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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28341111">countryhumans oneshots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OOFOOFx3/pseuds/OOFOOFx3'>OOFOOFx3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Geography (Anthropomorphic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Car Accidents, Child Abuse, Cockroaches, Derealization, Drunk Driving, Eating Disorders, F/M, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Murder, Nazi Germany, Near Death Experiences, Necrophilia, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Harm, Sexism, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character, Transphobia, Walmart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:35:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>83,091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28341111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OOFOOFx3/pseuds/OOFOOFx3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>originally uploaded to my wattpad. the first few chapters are shit so i strongly recommend skipping ahead a few chapters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Canada/Ukraine (Anthropomorphic), Estonia/Finland (Anthropomorphic), France/United Kingdom (Anthropomorphic), Germany/Poland (Anthropomorphic), North Korea/South Korea (Anthropomorphic), Philippines/Spain (Anthropomorphic), Union of Soviet Socialist Republics/United States (Anthropomorphic), United Kingdom/United States (Anthropomorphic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. War Is War (ThirdUnion) (Ew)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soldiers flood the streets, sending frantic civilians retreating into their homes. Mothers yank their children by their hands and drag them inside. Pedestrians hurry to safety and seek refuge in stranger's homes. Gunshots accompanied by shrieks pierce the summer air. Cars swerve off the road to avoid crashing into the German troops. A man hits a boy walking his dog and collides with a tree before tumbling into a ditch. Russian troops rush to shoo the Germans out of the streets, brandishing large guns and yelling to passersby who still stand in the line of fire. Voices cry out in the night, both in German and Russian.</p><p>"Unten bleiben! Bewege einen Muskel und wir schießen!"</p><p>(Stay down! Move a muscle and we'll shoot!)</p><p>"Отпусти меня! У меня есть жена и дети!"</p><p>(Let me go! I have a wife and children!)</p><p>Soviet watches this scene unfold from his office window with wide eyes. Salty droplets pool together and threaten to breach his waterline. His people are slaughtered right in front of him and he's stuck in his office with no backup plan. Not once in his life has Soviet felt so helpless and terrified.</p><p>The country's gaze lifts from the gory display and instead glues itself on a framed photo sitting gingerly on his desk.</p><p>"Папа, что бы ты сделала?"</p><p>(Папа, what would you do?)</p><p>It's not that Soviet expects an answer. He killed Russian Empire some twenty years ago. This doesn't stop Soviet from picking up the photo with shaking hands and staring at the image of his late father. His thumb delicately strokes the side of the frame. A single tear finally escapes and trickles down his cheek. Soviet hurriedly wipes it away and sets down the frame as his door slams open.</p><p>"Mein liebster..." says Reich in a sickly German accent so thick it could smother a flame.</p><p>Soviet turns to face the traitor. "Third..."</p><p>Reich steps forward, his heavy boots leaving muddy prints in the carpet. He cackles.</p><p>The communist suppresses a whimper and shuffles back a couple paces.</p><p>"You're easy to fool, commie. You're cornered. This will teach you a lesson..."</p><p>Reich pulls the treaty from his coat pocket, unfolding the sheet of paper. He holds it up for Soviet to see before suddenly yanking his arms away from one another, splitting the paper in two. He repeats this motion several times until the treaty is nothing but shreds.</p><p>Soviet scrambles toward the window as Reich draws nearer. Reich stands directly in front of the cowering country. Soviet's back presses against the glass and he trembles.</p><p>Reich tosses the shreds on the floor carelessly, smiling with satisfaction at Soviet's shocked face.</p><p>"A lesson to trust no one, no matter the circumstances. War is war, Soviet,"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Empty (America)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: disordered eating</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>America was full.</p><p>It's a normal feeling everyone should be used to. That nice, satisfying feeling after finishing a meal.</p><p>But America didn't feel satisfied.</p><p>He felt disgusted.</p><p>The American had eaten a healthy serving size of pasta for dinner, something that shouldn't cause such discomfort. He looked down at his slightly bulging belly in shame.</p><p>America was at a healthy weight, believe it or not. He was on the heavier side, but it wasn't a health concern. Despite his people often being overweight, he tried to watch his intake to maintain a healthy and happy lifestyle. But this turned into an unhealthy fear of certain foods.</p><p>Things like bread, pasta or other carbohydrates made something inside him stir uneasily. A slice of cake wasn't a mouth-watering treat. It was a triangular piece of iced foam, packed full of calories. Pizza wasn't a cheesy, saucy goodness contained within the confines of a thin crust. It was greasy and gross and everything America wished he hated.</p><p>America extended an index finger and poked his stomach, cringing as his finger touched fat. Just like every other healthy human being, he had some fat. His father, Britain, had some fat. Russia had fat. Italy had fat. Germany had fat.</p><p>Hell, even his brother, Canada, had fat.</p><p>But Canada was skinny. Britain was thinner than America. Italy was thin. Russia was thin. Germany was thin. What the hell?</p><p>It wasn't fair.</p><p>America didn't know exactly what was wrong with his body, but he hated it. His body was wrong.</p><p>That's why America was hunched over the toilet bowl, retching and gagging with his fingers shoved down his throat. The sour, chunky liquid poured out his mouth and into the dirty water below.</p><p>It was gross. Revolting. What would his family think? What about his friends? He wasn't sure, but he knew they wouldn't like the idea of him slowly killing himself. He didn't like it either, but that didn't stop him.</p><p>America didn't know why he felt he needed to do this. Something in his head nagged at him, warning him if he didn't throw up there would be horrible consequences. No matter how silly it sounded, he listened.</p><p>It wasn't a voice. He didn't hear voices in his head. He wasn't crazy. He was sick.</p><p>Hot, salty tears split from his eyes, flowing underneath his shades and streaking his cheeks as he continued to throw his guts up for self-esteem. His throat burned. His hand was covered in the sick mixture of bile, chunks of partially-digested pasta and the sauce he ate it with.</p><p>He peered into the ceramic bowl of vomit and toilet water, thankful to not find any splotches of red blood in the twisted concoction.</p><p>He set the seat and lid of the toilet back down and flushed it with his clean hand, catching a glimpse of his red face in the mirror in front of him. A bit of vomit hung to the corner of his mouth. He wiped it off before rushing to the sink to wash his filthy hands.</p><p>America felt empty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Then and Now (Russia)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: suicide, alcoholism</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Russia's reverie leapt out his thoughts as a gentle knock on the door interrupted his daydreaming. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, wincing as light flooded the room through the newly formed crack in the doorway. His father stepped inside. The golden hammer and sickle on the Soviet Union's eyepatch seemed to cast a heavenly glow in the dim light. With his muscular build and great height, Soviet was a god among men.</p><p>"Ты проспала сигнализацию. Пора вставать, Россия," Soviet spoke to his half-asleep son in Russian.</p><p>(You slept through the alarm. It's time to get up, Russia.)</p><p>"Папa, я уже проснулся," Russia groaned, lifting his gaze to the clock set on his nightstand. It was well past noon, several hours later than the time he usually awoke at.</p><p>(Dad, I've already woken up.)</p><p>Soviet shook his head with a chuckle. "I just microwaved your breakfast. Come get it before it gets cold again,"</p><p>The young country said nothing, not making a move to get out of bed.</p><p>"Russia," His father warned.</p><p>Russia swung his leg over the pile of sheets and got to his feet. He swayed uneasily before clutching onto the mattress to steady himself.</p><p>"What's the matter? Are you unwell?" Soviet shuffled forward to reach for his son.</p><p>Russia shrugged him off, finally regaining his balance. "All good. I just sat up too fast,"</p><p>The older communist nodded. He creaked the boy's door open again to let himself out. Before exiting his son's room, he reminded Russia to feed himself.</p><p>"Ешь блинчик, не так ли? Ты не можешь быть тоньше,"</p><p>(Eat a pancake, will you? You can't get any thinner.)</p><p>Russia slipped his gray ushanka over his head. "Yeah, yeah... I'll eat,"</p><p>Soviet gave him a soft smile before leaving the room.</p><hr/><p>Russia's throbbing headache only worsened at the knock on his bedroom door. He rubbed his tired eyes with his hands, resisting the urge to vomit. "Who is it?" He called.</p><p>A familiar voice sounded from outside, slightly muffled from the wall between him and his sibling. "It's me, Belarus,"</p><p>Russia groaned in response.</p><p>"I've got you an aspirin and a glass of water," she said, knocking again.</p><p>"Come in," Russia finally complied, sitting upright in his bed. He tugged the sheets up to his waist.</p><p>His sister entered the eldest sibling's room, a white pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She looked at the hungover country with eyes full of pity. Russia took the aspirin and water from Belarus and swallowed the pill before downing all of the water.</p><p>"You need a cold shower and a shave," Belarus said after a brief moment of silence.</p><p>"You need to not tell me what to do,"</p><p>Belarus propped her hands on her hips and gave him a dirty look. "What would father say?"</p><p>Russia groaned, lifting his gaze to the framed photo of his father set on his nightstand. The thin glass protecting the beloved photograph was cracked down the center, presumably from being dropped at some point by a drunken Russia in the past. "He'd leave me alone if I asked,"</p><p>Belarus shook her head with a heavy sigh. "Come get something to eat.”</p><p>Russia raised his middle finger at the younger country, making no move to get out of bed.</p><p>"Russia," Belarus warned.</p><p>He tugged the sheets up to his chin, yanking his pillow out from under him and covering his ears with it. The tired sister grabbed the man's wrist, only to scramble away as Russia hissed.</p><p>"Don't!"</p><p>"Sorry!"</p><p>Russia lifted the pillow off his face and set it aside. He swung his leg over the end of the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stood. He swayed uneasily, clutching onto the mattress to steady himself.</p><p>"Are you okay?"</p><p>"Hangover. Nothing I haven't dealt with before," the other Slav replied.</p><p>Belarus nodded before stepping away. "Eat something, please. You look sick,"</p><p>Russia slipped his gray ushanka over his head. "Yeah, yeah... Whatever,"</p><p>The sister forced a weak smile as she left the bedroom.</p><hr/><p>Russia snuck past the kitchen island and tiptoed behind his father, who was slicing potatoes for tonight's stew. His socks slid against the tile as he scooted past Soviet as quietly as he could.</p><p>Soviet pretended not to notice the country creeping unstealthily through the kitchen, drawing nearer and nearer to the locked liquor cabinet. The father suppressed a snort of amusement. Russia wouldn't be able to open it without the key he kept on his belt at all times.</p><p>Soviet patted his belt loop, only to freeze when his calloused fingers met only rough fabric. He whipped his head around at the sound of jangle and a creak.</p><p>"Эй!"</p><p>(Hey!)</p><p>The small child dropped the keys with a surprised squeak, immediately darting out of the kitchen as quickly as his little legs could carry him.</p><p>Soviet clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Вы должны быть быстрее, чем это! " he scolded.</p><p>(You have to be faster than that!)</p><p>Little Russia silently crept back into the kitchen and peeked his head over the counter to look his father in the eye. "Я украла ключи, пока ты дремлет!" He beamed.</p><p>(I stole the keys while you were napping!)</p><p>Soviet set the knife and potato on the cutting board. "Drinking is very bad for you when you are so young. Vodka is an adult drink,"</p><p>"Why, Papa?"</p><p>Soviet paused, unsure whether to give the realistic or frightening answer."...It eats your brain! Why do you think it makes Papa act so silly?"</p><p>"America said it makes you cooler,"</p><p>"Since when do you trust America more than your father?"</p><p>Russia giggled and straightened his ushanka before stomping in circles around the kitchen to imitate his father. "Since never, comrades! America is capitalist!" He boomed in the manliest voice he could muster.</p><p>The adult raised his index finger. "Ah! That is not how it is done,"</p><p>Soviet stomped in a circle around the kitchen, exaggerating his already thick Russian accent. "Никогда, товарищи! Никогда не доверяйте западному шпиону!"</p><p>(Never, comrades! Never trust a Western spy!)</p><p>Russia fell to the ground like a ragdoll, cackling. Soviet took his son into his arms, joining him with his laughter.</p><hr/><p>Russia snuck past the kitchen island and tiptoed behind his sibling, Ukraine, who was tying flowers together to make a fresh flower crown. His boots squeaked against the tile no matter how hard he tried to be silent.</p><p>Ukraine pretended to pay no attention to the older country. It wasn't unusual for Russia to sneak downstairs to snatch a new bottle of vodka and smuggle it into his room. Russia would pretend to be sneaky and his siblings would pretend not to notice the dwindling supply of bottles in the cabinet.</p><p>Russia slid the old key into the slot and cringed as the door creaked loudly when he popped it open. He took an unopened bottle and flicked off the cap. The cap flew and bounced onto the counter, landing in front of Ukraine.</p><p>"Hey!"</p><p>Russia slammed the cabinet door shut in surprise. He froze like a deer in headlights as Ukraine shot him a look. Ukraine set down the flowers they were tying. "How much have you had today?"</p><p>"Piss off," Russia grunted, tilting his head back as he took a swig directly from the bottle.</p><p>Ukraine stood from their seat and approached Russia carefully. "I'm sick of this game we're all playing, Russ. I'm not willing to ignore your drinking problem any longer,"</p><p>Russia backed away, holding the bottle of vodka close as if he were trying to protect it.</p><p>The younger country shuffled forward a few paces in return. "How much have you had today?"</p><p>No response.</p><p>Ukraine raised their voice. "I'm not going to ask again, Russ! How much have you had today?!"</p><p>Russia smashed the end of the bottle he held so dearly against the countertop, sending glass and vodka everywhere. He brandished the broken end at Ukraine and stepped forward.</p><p>Ukraine's eyes widened and they shot their arms into the air, slowly backing away from their violent brother. Russia followed his sibling, weaponized vodka bottle in hand. He leaned in close to the now trembling Ukraine. Ukraine cringed at the smell of alcohol on the country's breath.</p><p>"Russki..." Ukraine whimpered.</p><p>Russia shook his head before turning his back to them. "Оставь меня в покое," he huffed, opening the cabinet again to retrieve a new bottle.</p><p>(Leave me alone.)</p><p>Ukraine shook their head in disbelief as Russia trudged upstairs and retreated into his room to drown himself in alcohol once more.</p><hr/><p>"But Papa! Why can't I drive yet?!"</p><p>Soviet groaned at the teenager's complaining, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms and stepped in front of the door. "Because it's late! By the time you even make it down the block, it'll be past your curfew!"</p><p>Russia took a step forward, his boots digging into the soft carpet of the living room. "I'm fifteen, for Christ's sake! I don't need a curfew!"</p><p>The father shook his head. "I'm sorry, Russki. It's already pitch-black outside. Who knows who could be out there?"</p><p>"Fine!" Russia spat. He spun on his heels and trudged up the stairs to retreat to his room. "You're impossible!"</p><p>Soviet groaned a second time. He made sure to hide the car keys from his son before heading to bed.</p><p>"Give me my keys, you bastard!"</p><p>Kazakhstan furrowed his brows, yanking the keys farther from the angry country. "Dude, you're wasted. No way am I letting you drive like this,"</p><p>Russia hissed and reached for the keys. Kazakhstan stepped out of the way before he could grab them. The drunk tumbled to the ground.</p><p>"Иди черту!" Russia slurred.</p><p>(Go to Hell!)</p><p>Belarus peeked her head into the room to see her brothers fighting again. She shook her head before ducking back into her room.</p><p>"Give me the goddamn keys!"</p><p>"You're drunk!"</p><p>"I'm not drunk! I can drive!"</p><p>Belarus rushed out of her room a second time when she heard a loud thud. She ran into the living room to see Russia shove Kazakhstan to the ground and rip the car keys from his grasp.</p><p>"Russia!" She called after him.</p><p>Russia ignored his sister's cry and sprinted to the car. Kazakhstan leapt to his feet, going after him. Russia slammed the car door shut right as Kazakhstan and Belarus reached the car. He stuck the keys into the ignition and turned it, the machine roaring to life in the night.</p><p>"Russ! Russ, no!" Belarus shouted with tears welling in her eyes.</p><p>Kazakhstan banged his fist on the passenger side window, screeching unintelligible cries for Russia to get out the car.</p><p>Russia flipped his middle finger at the two, pulling out the driveway. The two ran after him down the block, only to stop when Russia sped too far ahead of them.</p><p>"Oh, God!" Belarus hunched over, panting as she caught her breath. "What do we do?!"</p><p>Kazakhstan sighed. "I don't know... I don't know,"</p><p>"Do you think he'll be okay?" She looked at her brother with a worried gaze.</p><p>Kazakhstan wished he could say something to ease her mind, but he couldn't lie. "I don't know,"</p><hr/><p>Soviet engulfed his crying son into a tight hug. "Shh... It's okay. Let it out,"</p><p>Russia sobbed into his father's embrace, unable to control the tears streaming down his cheeks. His father patted and rubbed soothing circles into his back.</p><p>"Promise me you won't do that again,"</p><p>Russia nodded. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you so scared..."</p><p>Soviet hushed him. "No, no. Don't be sorry. It's okay to feel like this. Just please, for the love of God, don't do anything like that again,"</p><p>The younger country nodded again, continuing to weep uncontrollably.</p><p>"So many people care about you. All your siblings, your friends, your father... It may not seem like it sometimes, but we're all here for you. You'll never be alone,"</p><p>Russia loosened his grip on his father, not realizing how tight he was clutching onto him. He pulled back from the hug and wiped his face. His eyes were red and puffy. "I promise. I won't do that again,"</p><p>Soviet smiled. "Good. If you ever need to talk, we're here to listen. I love you, Russki,"</p><p>Russia nodded. "I love you too, Papa. I don't know what I'd do without you,"</p><hr/><p>Ukraine sat on the sofa, barely managing to squeeze into the tight space between Belarus and Moldova. Belarus attempted to scoot over to give them more room, only to earn a hiss from Armenia and Lithuania, who sat on the far end.</p><p>"Sorry," Belarus mumbled.</p><p>Kazakhstan slid off the couch and onto the floor, relieving the other twelve. "Don't get your hopes up. I'm saving that spot for Russia,"</p><p>Latvia groaned. "I bet he's too busy getting trashed in his room to join us,"</p><p>Tajikistan kicked him in the shin. "Don't be like that, Latvia," She hissed.</p><p>Armenia butt in. "Let's not fight! Ukraine, why don't you go get Russia?"</p><p>Ukraine nodded and stood from their seat, accidentally nudging Estonia in the process. Estonia glared at them. Ukraine ignored the other country, continuing down the hallway leading to Russia's room.</p><p>Something felt off about the atmosphere surrounding the door of their brother's room. It felt dead. The silence was unusual as well, since Russia was often blasting loud music or engaging in some other noisy activity.</p><p>Ukraine raised their fist to knock on the door.</p><p>"Russ? It's Ukraine," They spoke, only to get no reply.</p><p>Ukraine set their hand on the doorknob, hesitant. They swallowed what felt like a golf ball in their throat before turning it.</p><p>Something was off.</p><p>Ukraine stepped into the country's room, only to be greeted by an unconscious Russia on the floor. He's surrounded by empty and partially full vodka bottles and an empty bottle of what Ukraine can only assume is the Zantac that went missing from the bathroom cabinet yesterday.</p><p>Ukraine screamed. It's only a matter of seconds until their other siblings are racing down the hall to investigate the commotion.</p><p>"Call 911!" Belarus shrieked, grabbing onto Russia's hand.</p><p>Russia's eyes are glazed over. Kazakhstan bent down to feel for a pulse while Armenia dialed the number into his phone. The others rushed around in a panic, unsure of what to do.</p><p>Ukraine sat on the floor beside Belarus, squeezing their eyes shut to stop the tears. Belarus looked at her sibling and wrapped a shaking arm around them.</p><p>"He's gonna be alright, Ukraine. He'll be okay,"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (PhilSpain)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is bad im sorry, tw: abuse??? shitty relationship</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I told you to put these away before I got back!"</p><p>Phil squeaked, rushing downstairs and into the kitchen upon hearing Spain's roar. His shoes tapped against the tile as he scurried to his boyfriend. "Espanya?"</p><p>Spain whipped around to face the other country. He put his hands on Phil's shoulders, squeezing tightly before giving him a rough shake. "In this house, we speak Spanish!"</p><p>Phil gasped and struggled out of Spain's grip. "But I don't speak Spanish!"</p><p>"Then learn," Spain growled. He grabbed Phil's wrist and dragged him further into the kitchen. He gestured to the small stack of dirty dishes by the sink. "You were supposed to put these away. Didn't I tell you that before I left?"</p><p>"I'm sorry, Espa... Spain. I forgot to wash them. I'll do that right now—,"</p><p>"You were also supposed to make dinner," Spain interrupted. "And I don't see dinner on the table. Hell, the table isn't even set!"</p><p>Phil whimpered, clawing at Spain's fingers wrapped around his wrist. "You're hurting me..."</p><p>"I am?"</p><p>Phil nodded and squirmed, although unsuccessful at freeing himself.</p><p>"Does this hurt?"</p><p>Phil yelped and reeled back as Spain's hand collided with his face. His head swung from the force, hitting the cabinet door with a loud thunk. As he slid to the floor, Spain stepped forward and shoved him onto his back.</p><p>Spain towered over the smaller country, even as he kneeled over him. He wrapped his hands around Phil's throat, but didn't apply any pressure. His knee dug into Phil's chest, keeping him down.</p><p>"Spain...?" Phil wheezed.</p><p>Spain glared at him coldly. "Shut up,"</p><p>Phil writhed in Spain's grasp, clawing at his boyfriend's arm with his nails. He kicked and wriggled around to shake him off.</p><p>Spain brought his hand down on Phil's face again. He kneed the crying man in his stomach, cringing when he heard a pop. Phil went still.</p><p>Spain's eyes widened in panic as he rested his palm on Phil's stomach. He was relieved to find it still rising and falling with every breath like it should.</p><p>"Get off of me..." Phil huffed weakly, wincing with visible discomfort. He looked up at Spain with pleading eyes.</p><p>Spain took the flesh of the Filipino's cheek in between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it tightly. He grinned. "You're cute, you know that? I love you, Philip,"</p><p>Phil said nothing, only staring at the Spanish man in confusion. "...Then, why do you treat me like this?"</p><p>"Like what?" Spain lifted a brow.</p><p>The Filipino squirmed uneasily, but Spain still wouldn't release him. He gave up with a sigh. "You hurt me,"</p><p>Spain frowned, furrowing his eyebrows thoughtfully. His gaze flickered from the boy trapped on the floor and the stack of dirty dishes. Suddenly, his grip on Phil's throat tightened. Phil gasped and sputtered, his mouth hanging open as he struggled for air.</p><p>"Espanya!" Phil coughed. Tears split from his eyes as he rammed his fists against Spain's chest.</p><p>"¡Español! ¡En mi casa, hablamos Español!" Spain roared, baring his teeth at the country struggling below him. His fingers pressed harder into Phil's neck, sinking the other further into the cold kitchen tile. Phil hacked, wheezing and sobbing as his cries grew weaker and weaker. Eventually, the Filipino's calls for help ceased. Spain let go of the boy, stepping away and leaving him to rest on the kitchen floor.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. You Are Not Your Father (GerPol)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>where were u wen polan was kil</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Germany looked down at his stained hands remorsefully, red with the blood of the man he swore to protect.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Poland.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His mangled corpse sat on the floor of the bedroom they shared, his marred face almost unrecognizable. Poland's clothes were soaked in blood, drenched from Germany's violent actions minutes ago.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Germany's dirty shoes sunk into the even dirtier carpet with each step, wet with Polish blood. He cringed at the squishy squelching noises from his feet as he entered the bathroom. His fingers left bloody prints on the knobs of the bathroom sink as he turned them. Clean, crystal clear water rushed from the faucet. Germany let the cool water wash away the sick, red liquid beginning to dry and flake on his hands. He turned off the tap and brought his hands closer to face, examining the dried blood clumped underneath his fingernails. With a sigh, he wiped his hands dry on his pants and looked into the mirror to see his reflection peering at him with disgust.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something was off.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead of the black, red and yellow flag he was used to seeing, his gaze was met by the spitting image of his father's infamous swastika on a red background.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Germany let out a horrified scream, throwing his hands over his face and sinking to the tile floor as his sobs wracked his body. He felt as if all of the world was glaring at him, shooting him dirty looks and silently blaming him for his father's hellish reign. No matter how many times Poland would tell him he was forgiven, Germany still felt he owed the world an apology.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now, Poland wouldn't be there to forgive him.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Germany awoke with a startled gasp. The soft, white sheets covering him and the body next to him in bed slid down his body as he shot upright. Beads of sweat the size of bullets trickled down his forehead and dropped onto his shirt, which was drenched. He brought a shaky hand to his chest, feeling his heart pound wildly. He wheezed and coughed as he tried to catch his breath.</p><p>"Niemcy...?"</p><p>Germany froze. He turned to see his confused boyfriend squinting at him as he tried to see in the dark.</p><p>Poland squeaked as Germany lunged forward to engulf him in a tight embrace. Germany sobbed into his boyfriend's shoulder, his tears staining the soft fabric of his shirt. Poland stiffened, but didn't push the German man away.</p><p>"I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Polen. I'm sorry..." Germany cried, his breath hitching between words as he choked on his tears. "I'm sorry! Please, forgive me..."</p><p>Poland's eyes widened. He frowned, wrapping his arms around Germany and holding him tight. "Did you have that dream again?"</p><p>Germany nodded frantically.</p><p>"It's not your fault, Niemcy," Poland spoke calmly. He unwrapped Germany's arms from around his waist and pushed him back a little so he could see his face. "Who are you?"</p><p>"...Deutschland?"</p><p>"You're not Third Reich," Poland wiped Germany's tears from his cheeks. "Am I wrong?"</p><p>"Nein," The other replied, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry—,"</p><p>"Nie! Nie, nie... Don't apologize for what you haven't done," Poland shook his head. He gave him a soft smile.</p><p>Germany's breath hitched. "I'm supposed to keep you safe! I want to protect you, but it's hard..."</p><p>Poland patted Germany's back repeatedly, comforting him like he would to a child. "I know you want to take care of me, and that's sweet of you, but you have to understand you have problems, too. Please, don't be afraid to talk to me if you're hurting. I want you to feel loved and cared for, too,"</p><p>The German nodded, sniffling and wiping his face. "Ich liebe dich, Polen. I want you to know that,"</p><p>"I love you too, Niemcy. Now, go back to sleep. It's late," Poland said, laying back down next to his boyfriend.</p><p>The two laid in silence, arms wrapped around one another as they stared at the ceiling and tried to drift back to sleep. Just as Poland's eyelids started to droop, his boyfriend sat up again.</p><p>"...Now that I think of it, I have to finish that new engine—,"</p><p>Poland yanked Germany back into bed by his wrist before he could even think to retreat to his workbench.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Collapse of Communism (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soviet picked at the dry, peeling skin on his fingers. His skin had been especially dry lately. For the past few weeks, he had developed an irritating rash-like condition on his hands. It was beginning to spread on his feet and up his wrists. It wasn't the most pleasant thing to look at, so he hid his condition by wearing long sleeves and gloves.</p><p>As the months went by, it only got worse.</p><p>Small chunks of his flesh began to fall off his body. His arms itched unbearably. To avoid scratching at the rash, he wrapped his arms in bandages.</p><p>It was traveling all over his body. His red skin was cracking and peeling away all over his torso, limbs and even his face. His lips grew incredibly chapped and he soon found himself applying ointments and lotions to his body several times daily.</p><p>Soviet was growing weaker. He knew the other countries could tell. At world meetings, many gave him looks of pity and concern as he hobbled around the room. He walked with a limp and had poor posture. He kept his head down while speaking and was unable to raise his voice higher than a stage whisper, for his vocal chords felt like they were falling apart.</p><p>A year went by. Soviet was bedridden. His legs and arms were now wrapped tightly in bandages, his attempt at keeping the flesh from falling off his bones. The skin all over his neck was peeling away, curling up and fraying at the edges.</p><p>Oddly enough, there wasn't any blood. Not a drop was spilled throughout his entire progression into terminal illness. Even when chunks of his body came apart, Soviet never bled. The chunks would crumble and drop off of him like ash.</p><p>His children bustled around the house, having taken it upon themselves to care for their sick father. Although most of his children had moved out long ago and didn't care about him, a few stayed behind.</p><p>How Soviet loved his children. Every one of them was precious. Of course, Russia was his favorite. It was no secret in the family that Soviet favored his eldest son over the rest of his kids. But he loved all of them, even the ones who hated him.</p><p>Russia, Belarus, Ukraine and Kazakhstan were the only ones left living in the house they shared with their sick father. They took turns watching after, bathing and feeding Soviet. His children visited his room once every hour or so, staying by his bedside long enough for a quick (and rather difficult, since Soviet could hardly speak) conversation. As time went on, they stayed by his bedside for longer periods of time, often sitting in silence.</p><p>Especially Russia.</p><p>Russia almost never left his father's room. Belarus and Ukraine had to work together to kick him out when Britain came to visit his ill friend.</p><p>"Old friend, you're dying..." The Brit spoke solemnly, sitting in a chair beside Soviet's bed.</p><p>Soviet nodded weakly. He turned his head, giving Britain a tired look. "...I know,"</p><p>"What will we do without you?"</p><p>"...Not another war, hopefully," Soviet's cracked lips curled into a small grin. "I don't think the world can take another one..."</p><p>Britain chuckled, but genuine fear was present in his face. He rested his hands in his lap, staring down at the carpeted floor of Soviet's bedroom. "You helped us a lot in World War Two, you know..."</p><p>Soviet's head bobbed up and down a couple times. His eyes were shut, but Britain could tell he was awake. "Say anything about Third and I'll make World War Two look like a tea party,"</p><p>"I wasn't going to say that—," Britain started.</p><p>"Tch," Soviet clicked his tongue. "I'm only kidding... Tell France I say hello. Germany, too,"</p><p>Britain perked up. "Oh, I forgot! Germany's coming by later with America. America won't stay long, though. You can imagine why,"</p><p>The Slav made a sound of acknowledgement. Britain uttered a goodbye and left Soviet's home, returning to his wife. True to the Brit's word, Germany and America came to visit him a few hours later.</p><p>"Waddup, commie," America huffed. His arms were crossed and he was staring at Soviet apathetically, but the smallest hint of concern laced his voice. "You're doing more than bite the dust. You're becoming the dust,"</p><p>Germany prodded the American in the ribs, who let out a 'oof' before doubling over. "Ignore him. Hallo, USSR,"</p><p>Soviet looked up to see the man he helped raise. In his eyes, Germany was one of his children, too. During his relationship with Third, the Slav had grown close to him and Germany began to view him as another father figure. After WW2, when Germany was still a young child, he hopped between living with Britain, America and Soviet. Nowadays, Soviet was more like Germany's distant step-dad who he could sometimes go to for advice.</p><p>"It's nice to see you, Germany..." Soviet smiled, the bags under his eyes becoming more visible as his lips turned upwards. "You too, America. I guess,"</p><p>America forced a laugh. "Yeah, yeah... Whatever. I'll see you in hell, right?"</p><p>Soviet chuckled, but it sounded more like a strangled cough. "Sure thing,"</p><p>America shot Soviet finger pistols before ducking out of the room, leaving him alone with Germany.</p><p>Germany sighed. "I wanted to thank you..."</p><p>Soviet gave the German a puzzled look. He raised a brow. "...What?"</p><p>Germany cleared his throat, willing his voice not to crack. He blinked away a wetness forming in his eyes. "Thank you for taking care of me those many years ago. I have always looked to you for advice, and it hurts to see you like this,"</p><p>"Германия..." Soviet sighed. He shifted slightly in his bed. "It was an honor to take care of you. You are and always will be one of my children, even if I never adopted you or married your father. I'm so proud of you,"</p><p>"That, too," Germany added. He took a deep breath before continuing. "...I know this is a touchy subject, but thank you for loving my vater when he was still alive. He may have betrayed you, but he loved you, at least a little bit,"</p><p>Soviet said nothing, only smiling at Germany warmly. The pair sat in silence for a few moments longer.</p><p>"...Third would be proud of you, too," Soviet broke the silence. He shifted slightly, wincing when his bones cracked and popped with the motion.</p><p>"I hope so," Germany whispered. His voice wavered, rising in pitch before falling back down again as he fought tears.</p><p>Soviet waved his hand weakly, motioning for Germany to lean in closer. Germany shuffled towards the bed, confused.</p><p>"I'm trying to give you a hug, but I can't sit up..." Soviet said, trying to support his weight on his arms, only to collapse back onto the mattress with a sigh.</p><p>Germany wrapped his arms around Soviet, careful not to hurt the dying man. Soviet lifted his arms to return the embrace, but let them fall to his sides.</p><p>"I won't forget you, USSR. You're like my other father,"</p><p>Soviet chuckled. "Stop, stop. I'm going to cry if you keep talking like that. Don't make your 'father' cry,"</p><p>Germany laughed softly. He stepped away from the bed, letting go of the Slav. "Ich liebe dich, Vater,"</p><p>Soviet smiled. He didn't know German very well, but he understood. "I love you too, son,"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Confession (South Korea x North Korea????)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>lmao incest</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Will you promise not to judge me?"</p><p>The American nodded solemnly, resting his weight on the railing. He crossed his arms and stared down at the lobby below, which was bustling with the chatter from the arriving countries.</p><p>"Just tell me what's on your mind, South. I'm here to listen," America gave the Korean a smile.</p><p>South Korea's gaze flickered down to his wringing hands. He gulped audibly. "I'm not so sure I should say this..." He began to step away. "I should go. I've changed my mind,"</p><p>America reached out a gloved hand to stop him. He rested his hand on South's shoulder. "You're one of my best friends, you know?"</p><p>South said nothing, only continuing to look at the ground with shame.</p><p>"I'd do anything to lift whatever weight is on your shoulders right now," America said, his voice laced with worry. "You can trust me with anything. I swear on my life,"</p><p>South Korea turned around. America's hand fell back to his side.</p><p>"You can't tell anyone," South said shakily. He looked at his friend with pleading eyes.</p><p>America stepped forward. "I won't tell a soul,"</p><p>The two stood in tense silence for a few seconds. South shuffled back towards the railing, peering over the edge as if to make sure nobody was within earshot.</p><p>"Sometimes..." South hesitated. "Sometimes I worry about North,"</p><p>America nodded. He gave the other country a reassuring smile. "Just like any good brother would,"</p><p>South winced, visibly pain-stricken. He blinked away what America hoped wasn't tears, playing with the hem of his hoodie sleeve anxiously. "That's the problem,"</p><p>America tried to make eye contact with the Korean again, but to no avail. He tilted his head, puzzled. "Is there something wrong? Do you feel bad about empathizing with North?"</p><p>The Asian shook his head. "I... I love him. He's my everything,"</p><p>"I don't see anything wrong with that... Did he hurt you?!" America's expression hardened as he thought of the North Korean angrily. His hands clenched into fists, reaching for the gun America usually kept on his belt at all times.</p><p>"No!" South broke. He leaned over the railing as he began to cry. His fingers curled around the edge of the cold metal. Tears streaked his white face and his shoulders hunched over with his sobs.</p><p>America patted South's back like he was comforting a child. "...I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Please, tell me what's wrong,"</p><p>"It hurts when he ignores me..." South continued sobbing. "I miss talking to him. I just want him to stop threatening to destroy the world and... I just... I'm so worried about him!"</p><p>America and South were now seated on the tile floor together. America was cradling the Korean, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he sobbed violently. South clutched onto the fabric of Ame's pants, gripping it tightly like the American man was his lifeline. His eyes were squeezed shut, but tears still leaked past his eyelids.</p><p>"It's okay. You're okay. North's okay..." America comforted him. He wiped the tears from South's cheeks, smiling softly. "He's safe. You're safe. Everybody is safe,"</p><p>South continued crying, struggling to speak between hiccups and hitches. "I... I love him!"</p><p>"I know you do. You're siblings,"</p><p>South shook his head wildly. His eyes suddenly flew open, staring up at America with panic. He was practically screaming at the top of his lungs and America worried anybody within a ten mile radius could hear the crying Korean's following confession.</p><p>"No, no, no! You don't understand... I'm in love with him! I'm so madly in love with him. I want him to be mine, but it's impossible because he's my brother! And he never talks... I just want him to hold me with his big, strong arms and never let go. He's everything I've ever wanted, everything I've ever dreamed of. I'm nothing without him! But I can't have him, all because he's my sibling!"</p><p>Oh.</p><p>America stared down at South in shock, frozen with surprise. His stomach churned and he felt sick bile rise in his throat. He didn't know what he felt most: Disgusted, confused or shocked. It was a mixture of all three.</p><p>He was gonna lose his lunch if he thought about it too hard.</p><p>"Okay..." America finally gargled out. South looked up at him with a face so red it would give Vietnam a run for his money.</p><p>"You promised you wouldn't judge me!"</p><p>America's eyes widened. "I'm not... I'm not judging you. It's just not what I expected,"</p><p>South wailed harder, his sobs wracking his body as he curled up on the floor in shame. "I hate myself! I'm so disgusting, crushing on my own brother..."</p><p>"No, no... You're not disgusting. Don't say that," America hesitated, resisting the urge to gag. "How long have you had these feelings?"</p><p>South wiped his face, sniffling as he slowly calmed himself. "A long time. Since we were little,"</p><p>The incest-thing wasn't the worst part to America, in all honesty. Yeah, it was strange and gross and absolutely awful, but the worst thing was that it was North Korea. How could someone harbor such feelings for the cold, distant man who posed as a threat to the entire world?</p><p>South had a way of always seeing the good in people, which was something America secretly envied the Korean for. Whatever South saw in the nuclear weapon-obsessed man, America didn't know. He didn't want to know.</p><p>"...That's a long time," America noted, unsure of what he was supposed to say. South Korea might as well be having a conversation with a brick. "Does he know?"</p><p>South recoiled. "No! And he never will!"</p><p>America bobbed his head up and down. He was trying hard not to judge his friend, but he thought he was going to vomit if this conversation continued.</p><p>"I think they're all starting to come up the stairs. Let's get to the meeting, South," The American got to his feet, reaching a hand out to assist South.</p><p>South took his hand and stood on wobbly legs, his knees buckling as he shakily followed the other into the meeting room.</p><p>America knew South wouldn't want anyone else to know about this, but he wasn't sure he could keep this information to himself. As soon as the meeting ended, America was going to pull Canada aside and tell him about South's <em>crush.</em> Canada could be trusted. Canada would know what to do.</p><p>But first, America had to vomit.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Innovation That Excites (GerPol)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Poland gingerly stepped into the dark garage, thankful to immediately find the light switch beside the door. His fingers flipped the small switch upward, turning on the overhead lights. They illuminated the large workspace section by section, lighting up one by one. The new light revealed the cardboard boxes lined snugly against the concrete walls of the garage and Germany's desk, which was strewn with stacks of papers. In the far back, Poland could see a 3D printer and an old, taken-apart Volkswagen.</p><p>The Pole took a few steps more, heading deeper into the makeshift workshop. He approached Germany's desk. On the far left side stood several stacks of paperwork and a cup full of writing utensils. A small, still half-built device of some kind sat on the right, beside various 3D-printed pieces and parts. The center, the only remotely usable portion of the desk, was almost entirely buried in diagrams, notes and maps.</p><p>Poland picked up a lonely sheet of paper, curiously peering at his boyfriend's pristine handwriting. The white and blue graph paper was decorated with neat, hand-drawn diagrams, lists of necessary parts and paragraphs written in both German and English. The diagrams depicted a variety of inventions, including solar-powered tools, new vehicles (one of which appeared to be a strange car-tank hybrid) and even small robots. What stood out most to Poland was a sketch of a small, stick-shaped device with many folds in it. He didn't speak German well, but from the little he understood from the writing below, the device was a pair of compact eyeglasses, or what Germany called <em>Kompakte Brille</em>.</p><p>Poland jumped upon hearing the door creak open behind him.</p><p>"Polen? What are you doing down here?"</p><p>Poland set the sheet of paper back to its respective place. He gestured to the cluttered garage around him, his mouth gaping open in awe. "This... This is magnificent,"</p><p>Germany's face flushed a light pink. "You think so?"</p><p>Poland picked up a sketch of a low-cost solar panel alternative. Since solar panels were expensive to install, Germany created a way for them to be much cheaper and still eco-friendly. "These things could save the world! Haven't you ever thought of showing this to EU?"</p><p>"EU?" The German said shakily. He shook his head wildly. "Meine Gott, never. I don't think I ever will,"</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>Germany bit his lip, shifting his weight from left to right. He dug his fingernails into a bump on his wrist, peeling at the scab and scar that formed from many years of his nervous habit. "EU is... He's... I don't like him. I don't think he would approve of these things,"</p><p>Poland blinked. "How could he not? Yes, some of these are weird, like your recreation of the Euthanasia Coaster. But you are full of brilliant ideas! You are so much smarter than you think. These inventions would improve, if not save lives!"</p><p>"That..." Germany's voice cracked pitifully. "That means a lot to me, Polen. I... I am afraid if I am not considered valuable, they won't  want me anymore,"</p><p>Poland scooted closer to the other, suddenly realizing the true cause of Germany's workaholism. </p><p>"Oh, Niemcy! Please don't tell me that's how you think everyone sees you!"</p><p>"I need to prove to them I'm not a Nazi,"</p><p>It was all clear now. Germany's overwhelming need to drown himself in work wasn't because of his obsessive compulsive personality, it was because of a genuine fear of being considered disposable. Germany desperately wanted to give back to the world his father tried to destroy, even if it meant sacrificing his mental health and general well-being. Anything was worth the world's forgiveness.</p><p>"For the last time, you are not Third Reich! You are nothing like him. You're destined to create and he sought to destroy. Nobody blames you for the events of World War Two. Even if they did, it would be wrongfully so. You're Germany, not that monster!"</p><p>Germany doubled over, sobbing violently into his hands. Poland placed a hand on his back and gently guided him to the swivel seat by the desk, sitting him down before kneeling in front of him.</p><p>"How could you be so sure?" Germany choked between sobs, his upper body bouncing as his breath hitched. "They secretly hate me! If I weren't such a good inventor, they'd probably kill me!"</p><p>"You couldn't be further from the truth, Niemcy..." Poland took the German's calloused hands in his. "You mean so much to the world, moje kochanie. You mean so much to <em>me,</em>"</p><p>Germany exhaled deeply, his breath fogging up his now crooked and smudged glasses. He bit his quivering lip as he regained his composure.</p><p>"Kocham cię. Don't you ever think for a second the world hates you. You are beloved,"</p><p>Germany nodded. "I am beloved..." He said, mostly to himself. "I am beloved, I am beloved..." He repeated.</p><p>"You are beloved,"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Redeuntem (haha fancy latin name)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is basically a shameless self-promotion of my other book, Redeuntem. go check it out if you like.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You are God's mistake,"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah... We get it, Mex. I'm a stupid gringo and I deserve to 'pack my butthole full of gunpowder and squat over a flame'," America rolls his eyes, swinging his arms back behind his head as he props his feet on the table in front of him.</p><p>Canada wheezes, hunching over and slamming his face into the wooden table. Tears well up in his eyes as he cracks up.</p><p>"America, feet off the table," Britain taps his son on the shoulder. America groans before setting his feet back where they belong.</p><p>"Does anyone know if Greece is coming? I heard he got sick," France pipes up from beside Britain. She looks around the room for an answer, only to receive shrugs and confused murmurs.</p><p>"I hope he's coming..." Germany grumbles, dragging his index finger idly up and down the table. His fingernail digs into the wood, leaving a faint mark.</p><p>Poland rests a calm hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "I think it's best he doesn't show up. Patience, Niemcy,"</p><p>Germany heaves a sigh before nodding. He turns to Russia, who's hardly spoken a word since he's entered the meeting room. "What's up with you? You're quiet today,"</p><p>"Ukraine and I had a fight last night. I'm still pissed," Russia shrugged before taking a swig from his flask, presumably filled with vodka.</p><p>Belarus reaches for the flask once Russia sets it down again. "Okay, I think that's enough. Remember what Ukraine said—,"</p><p>Russia snarls, swatting his sister's hand and quickly shoving the flask back into his pocket. "Ukraine doesn't know what they're talking about!"</p><p>"Hey! Don't talk about them like that!" Canada butts in upon hearing his significant other's name. "They just want you to stop drinking so much!"</p><p>Russia's cold gaze snaps over to the Canadian. Canada swallows audibly, sitting back down and looking away like nothing happened.</p><p>"So..." Britain taps his watch. "We've got thirty minutes until we start. What's the schedule this time?"</p><p>"Well," Germany clears his throat, pulling out a sheet of paper from his breast pocket. "First, European Union, United Nations and ASEAN have some news. Then, I have an invention to show you. After that, Spain and Mex—,"</p><p>The door flies open, making a loud 'bang' and rattling wildly as it hits the wall. Ireland bursts into the room, followed by Scotland and Wales. Northern Ireland trudges behind, a bored expression present on his face.</p><p>"Top of the morning to ya' fockers!" Ireland screeches.</p><p>Northern Ireland grimaces and covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. "God, do ye ever shut up?"</p><p>Scotland punches Northern Ireland in the arm. "Hey! Be nice!"</p><p>"Hello to you, too," Britain says, as if they hadn't interrupted Germany and possibly broken the door. "We were just discussing the schedule for this month's meeting,"</p><p>The British Isles hurry to take their seats beside each other. Wales and Scotland sit in between Ireland and Northern Ireland. Over the next couple of minutes, more countries filter in and sit down at the giant round table. European Union, United Nations and ASEAN are the last to arrive.</p><p>"Greetings, my fellow countries. I'm pleased to see most of you here," European Union says as he takes his place at the podium. United Nations and ASEAN stand next to him as they wait for their turns to speak.</p><p>European Union's gaze drags over the countries before him. Most immediately look away, as if to avoid looking into his dark, empty eyes. He clears his throat.</p><p>"First order of business, we have some updates for you all on the matters we discussed last month. Did I bring up Redeuntem last meeting?"</p><p>Britain suddenly groans and buries his head in his hands. "Is it really happening so soon?"</p><p>Several countries whip around to face the Brit. France's eyebrows knit together in concern as she places a hand delicately on her husband's shoulder.</p><p>"Whatever do you mean, mon amour?"</p><p>European Union clears his throat again to grab everyone's attention once more. He throws a glare at Britain (who then flushes red and cowers in his seat) before continuing. "I suppose I was too occupied to announce it last time. As Britain already knows, there's going to be a reunion soon. It'll be at Britain's place, like we already decided a few weeks ago,"</p><p>It's everyone else's turn to groan. Reunions are always boring, especially when they're planned by the EU. The only one to remain silent is Britain, who is instead staring down at the table nervously.</p><p>"But this is no ordinary reunion!" United Nations suddenly butts in. European Union shoots him a dirty look, but steps away from the podium to let the other speak. "A few of you may recognize the name of this upcoming event: Redeuntem. It's Latin for "The Returning". We chose this name because it reflects the purpose of the reunion,"</p><p>"And what would that be?" America says boredly.</p><p>"Countries are returning from the afterlife!" United Nations says with a grin, although it is clear he is not as confident as his expression says.</p><p>America suddenly jerks from his chair. He looks up at the other with wide eyes, his shades sliding down the bridge of his nose. "What?"</p><p>Bewildered chatter erupts from the seated countries. Like dissonance, it fills the room with incoherent murmurs of confusion and uncertainty. European Union scowls at United Nations for allowing such a thing to happen. Before European Union can step in to try to seize control of the situation, ASEAN finally speaks up.</p><p>"We have weeks to prepare for the reunion, so do not fret. I understand your concern. How can we accommodate so many countries in a single home? How long will it last? How ma—,"</p><p>"Will my father be there?"</p><p>Germany's voice startles everyone in the room. It takes a moment for the world to understand what the young country is asking, and when they get it, the tension in the air grows thick.</p><p>"I... Uhm..." ASEAN stammers. They turn to European Union, who's just as uncomfortable. Despite being visibly shaken, European Union takes the wheel.</p><p>"...Yes, Germany. Every country, living or dead, will be there,"</p><p>Germany looks down at the table, his expression blank and face pale. Poland wraps an arm around his fiancé to comfort him, whispering something in his ear. Germany nods but doesn't look up again.</p><p>The air has somehow grown thicker with stress. You'd need a machete to make your way out the door. Countries exchange mixed glances at one another, too apprehensive to say anything meaningful.</p><p>"But..." European Union takes a deep breath, like he's struggling to keep his composure. "But please, nobody worry. We have a plan if something goes awry,"</p><p>"This is a recipe for disaster," America grits his teeth. He throws his hands in the air. "You're setting up for war!"</p><p>Several countries gasp and Britain gets to his feet.</p><p>"United States of America! Never, under any circumstance, should you ever speak about war in such a way! How dare you talk about disaster so nonchalantly? I be—,"</p><p>"Sit down!" European Union barks. His voice cuts through the room like a knife through butter. Britain, shocked out of his skin, immediately plops back into his chair with shame.</p><p>The European Union eyes flicker over all of the countries before he speaks again, this time more calmly. "Like I said earlier, the situation is under our control. Although we cannot prevent specific countries from arriving, we can watch them closely to prevent any... Mishaps,"</p><p>Ukraine wrings their hands anxiously as they dare question European Union. "Is that really going to do anything? I think America could be right... This is a terrible idea. Not only will the Axis be back from the dead, but so will other various countries who have conflict with others,"</p><p>Many stiffen at the mention of the Axis, especially Germany. Germany practically sinks into his seat upon the mention of his father's infamous group of friends. Poland reaches out for him again, only for the German to shake his head.</p><p>European Union nods at Ukraine. "I understand where you're coming from when you say that. But must I mention the reunion will be over the span of a single weekend, instead of the usual week reunions normally last? Only so much can happen over the span of 48 hours. Once the clock strikes midnight, the deceased countries will be back on their way to whatever afterlife they came from,"</p><p>Russia, who's been mostly silent this entire time, suddenly gets to his feet and walks out the meeting room. Belarus stands to go after him, but Kazakhstan tugs on her arm to discourage her from going after him.</p><p>"Leave him be. You guys should talk later," He says quietly, although most countries can still hear him through the silence of the room.</p><p>Belarus takes a deep breath before shaking her head. She gently unwraps Kazakhstan's fingers from around her arm. "I'm sorry, but I need to go. I'll be back. Fill me in on the meeting tonight at dinner,"</p><p>With that, Belarus smiles at European Union apologetically before scurrying after Russia. The door shuts behind her with a soft click.</p><p>"Well, now that we've announced Redeuntem, do you have any questions? Comments? Concerns?" European Union says after a brief moment of silence.</p><p>Everyone is quiet. It's clear there's many questions and concerns among them, but nobody says a thing. They've begun to accept there's no way around this reunion, "Redeuntem".</p><p>"Great!" European Union claps his hands together. He smiles, revealing his set of unnaturally bright white teeth. "On with the meeting, then!"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Let's Go For a Ride (Russia)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>cw: drunk driving, car accident</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Give me my keys, you bastard!"</p><p>Kazakhstan furrowed his brows, yanking the keys farther from the angry country. "Dude, you're wasted. No way am I letting you drive like this,"</p><p>Russia hissed and reached for the keys.</p><p>Kazakhstan stepped out of the way before he could grab them. The drunk tumbled to the ground.</p><p>"Иди к черту!" Russia slurred. <em>(Go to Hell!)</em></p><p>Belarus peeked her head into the room to see her brothers fighting again. She shook her head before ducking back into her room.</p><p>"Give me the goddamn keys!"</p><p>"You're drunk!"</p><p>"I'm not drunk! I can drive!"</p><p>Belarus rushed out of her room a second time when she heard a loud thud. She ran into the living room to see Russia shove Kazakhstan to the ground and rip the car keys from his grasp.</p><p>"Russia!" She called after him.</p><p>Russia ignored his sister's cry and sprinted to the car. Kazakhstan leapt to his feet, going after him.</p><p>Russia slammed the car door shut right as Kazakhstan and Belarus reached the car. He stuck the keys into the ignition and turned it, the machine roaring to life in the night.</p><p>"Russ! Russ, no!" Belarus shouted with tears welling in her eyes.</p><p>Kazakhstan banged his fist on the passenger side window, screeching unintelligible cries for Russia to get out the car.</p><p>Russia flipped his middle finger at the two, pulling out the driveway. The two ran after him down the block, only to stop when Russia sped too far ahead of them.</p><p>Russia glared into the dash mirror, eyebrows furrowed as he watched his siblings come to a stop in the road and continue to call out his name.</p><p>He shifts his gaze back to the road ahead, forcing his blurry vision to correct itself but to no avail. Something in his brain begins to grow fuzzy and he feels disoriented. It feels like he jumped off a rocking boat before getting into the car.</p><p>Something tells him to pull over at a gas station or parking lot to wait this out and sober up.</p><p>
  <em>I shouldn't be doing this...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wait. I shouldn't be listening to myself! I'm drunk!</em>
</p><p>Russia quickly shakes off the thought of pulling over. He smiles drunkenly to himself, proud of his logic.</p><p>The Russian continues driving down the road, not bothering to stop at the red lights. It doesn't matter, anyway. The streets are deserted at this hour of night.</p><p>Russia looks down at his speedometer— 90 miles per hour.*</p><p>Apathetic, Russia shrugs and puts more pressure on the gas, urging the car to go even faster. The car immediately accelerates and for a moment, Russia feels a rush in his spine. In his drunkenness he mistakes the brief adrenaline spike for excitement and drives his heel into the gas pedal even further. The car picks up speed and soon, the trees and few other cars passing by turn into mere smudges and flashes in the windows.</p><p>Suddenly, his hands are off the wheel and he's thrown forward in his seat, having forgotten to wear his seatbelt. There's a loud screeching in his eardrums and the sound of glass shattering. His ushanka flies off and instead of the fluffy, warm feeling from his hat, there's the suffocating feeling of blood pooling in his head as the car rolls onto its back. A sharp pain shoots up his leg and into his hip. Something wet drips down from his nostril and over his lips before dribbling off his chin. It tastes metallic.</p><p>It's all Russia remembers before slipping into unconsciousness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Yes. I am American. For my readers who aren't familiar with the Freedom System, 90 miles an hour is about 70 pitchers of kompot per babushka, or 300 English drivers driving on the wrong side of the road per American town.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. i wrote this forever ago, it's shit, don't read</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>basically a voltron oneshot i wrote three years ago, but cut out the voltron characters and replaced with countryhumans</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The cashier scans a box of cereal. The red light flashes, accompanied by a loud "ding".</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A small sound escapes America's throat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Somehow, nobody notices. The cashier scans another item, once again followed by a red flash and a ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>America makes another noise, slightly louder.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia and Philippines shift their gazes to their friend, concern written on their bewildered faces.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The cashier swipes a bag of chips across the scanner. Flash. Ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>America is louder.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Flash. Ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Philippines raises a confused brow at the American. Russia squints.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>America moans again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another flash. Another ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another moan.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Flash.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Moan.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The cashier looks up at America this time. He looks absolutely disgusted, yet mildly intrigued. Something in his eyes glimmers with curiosity, as if he wonders how long he can allow this to go on before calling security.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A flash and a ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>America clutches the edge of the counter as his body shakes with an eardrum bursting moan.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia and the Philippines stand frozen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The cashier blinks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Flash. Ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>America collapses on the floor, howling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Red flash. Loud ding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An even louder cry of ecstasy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shoppers around the group of friends stare as America moans wildly on the dirty linoleum floor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Coruscating, crimson light. Mechanical, pitched chime. Exultant, passionate cry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Over and over again, until eternity ceases to exist. Until every plant and tree and flower has wilted and crumbled like the Soviet Union. Until every human being is gone, deserting the earth. Until every microorganism and extremophile has found Mother Earth's ecosphere inhabitable. Until the last remaining star collapses on itself, creating a supernova so colossal and powerful it destroys time itself. Until even the hands of whatever god there is aren't even safe from eternal damnation.</em>
</p><p>"And that's how America got us thrown out of Walmart," Russia finishes.</p><p>Canada and Mexico fight tears as they attempt to restrain their laughter.</p><p>America crosses his arms. "Screw you,"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Germany Makes a Knife Out of Styrofoam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>i am a serious writer</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You can't recycle styrofoam!" America exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.</p><p>"Ah! But!" Germany suddenly butts into the argument between America and Russia. "You can reuse it!"</p><p>Russia shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. "What? No. Styrofoam is virtually useless,"</p><p>"That's what you think,"</p><p>Germany gets up from his seat and heads for the trashcan beside the door. He walks with a confident smirk on his mouth and purpose in his steps.</p><p>America reaches for the German man. "Hey, where are you going? Tell us how to use styrofoam!"</p><p>Germany pulls a chunk of packing styrofoam out of the trashcan. "I am,"</p><p>Russia and America exchange bewildered glances. However, Germany continues digging through the trash can. He pulls out an orange peel and chucks it on the table beside the piece of styrofoam.</p><p>"What the hell are you doing?"</p><p>Germany chuckles, taking his seat again. He grins. "Yes,"</p><p>"That's not—," America begins.</p><p>"Russia, give me your flask," Germany suddenly says.</p><p>"What? No!" Russia says, clutching his flask filled with vodka to his chest. "You don't even drink vodka!"</p><p>"You're right, I don't," Germany digs his fingernails into the orange peel, ripping the tough skin into smaller, more manageable pieces. "But this orange does,"</p><p>"Okay, okay. You've officially lost your mind," Russia hands over his flask. Germany nods a 'thanks' and sets it next to the styrofoam.</p><p>Germany quickly gets to work by separating the remaining flesh of the orange from the rind of the peel. He chucks the scraps of fruit back into the trashcan, but keeps the peels. The room reeks of citrus, but at least that means anybody who enters the room won't have to worry about getting scurvy.</p><p>"America, give me your pocket knife,"</p><p>America doesn't hesitate to hand over his potentially dangerous tool, unlike Russia did seconds ago with his vodka.</p><p>Germany's hands skillfully chop the orange rind into tinier chunks with America's knife. Within a few minutes, little orange powder sits in a short pile in front of the three.</p><p>"If we had a blender, this would be easier," The German says, continuing to work the orange powder with the knife. Russia and America watch wordlessly, studying Germany's movements.</p><p>Eventually, the orange peel turns into a paste-like material. Germany wipes off the residue from the knife before handing it back to America, who looks at it with a mixture of shock and scorn.</p><p>"Do you have a lighter?"</p><p>America says nothing, quickly fishing his lighter out of his pocket and handing it to Germany.</p><p>Germany grabs a ceramic bowl from the coffee cart and scrapes the orange paste inside. He sticks a candle underneath the bowl, which is held up by two other bowls set upside-down. He alights the wick with America's lighter and slides the lighter back over to him. America doesn't take it.</p><p>Russia and America jerk back as Germany smashes a small hole in the bowl with a pen. Germany either doesn't notice or ignores their reactions, instead covering the top of the bowl with several long strips of tape.</p><p>"What was the point in that?"</p><p>Germany doesn't answer. He rushes back to the coffee cart and grabs another bowl, a cup of ice and a plastic straw. He crams the straw into the opening he created in the bowl containing the orange-paste. He sets the cup of ice underneath the straw and sets the far end of the straw on the rim of the second bowl.</p><p>"Either one of you, give me a condom,"</p><p>Both America and Russia dig into their pockets in search of the requested item. Russia retrieves a condom from the inside of his wallet before America can find one. America frowns.</p><p>Russia chuckles and hands it to Germany, who tears the packaging and blows up the condom like a balloon.</p><p>"Gross," America comments.</p><p>"It hasn't been inside of anyone," Russia retorts. "Just like you,"</p><p>America rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I hope your favorite deli stops selling your favorite sandwich,"</p><p>Germany speaks before Russia can spout another insult back at the American. "Now, while we wait for that to distill..."</p><p>"Why are you distilling oranges?"</p><p>Germany shrugs. "You'll see,"</p><p>Russia and America exchange confused faces a second time.</p><p>Germany retrieves a small bottle from his pocket. He holds it up for both of the other countries to see. "This, right here, is limonene. It dissolves things,"</p><p>Germany ties up the balloon-condom before setting it on the table. He pours a droplet of the limonene on the condom. Russia and America reel back as the condom explodes with a loud 'pop'.</p><p>"You just wasted my condom!"</p><p>"It's not like you were ever going to use it,"</p><p>Germany slides the piece of styrofoam over to the burst condom. He tears off a chunk of the material and sets it on the table. He pours some limonene on it and lets Russia and America watch it dissolve.</p><p>"Is that acid?" Russia asks, genuinely interested.</p><p>"Yes," Germany answers. He puts the lid on the container and hands it to Russia so he can observe it. "It's the major component in citrus fruit peels. It causes that weird smell in oranges and is used in cleaning products,"</p><p>"Why do you have this?"</p><p>"Purely coincidental," Germany smiles sincerely. He looks back down at the now melted styrofoam. He pokes it with the end of a pen. "It's not dangerous to touch, I don't think. But I'm not sure. I'm an engineer, not a chemist,"</p><p>"Don't touch it with bare skin, just to be safe," Russia suggests.</p><p>Germany blows out the candle with a huff and carefully removes the tape from the bowl of distilled oranges.</p><p>America covers his nose and mouth with his shirt collar. "God, that smells!"</p><p>Russia finishes examining the vial of limonene and hands it over to Germany again. "It reeks!"</p><p>Germany chuckles and starts breaking off small chunks of the Styrofoam and placing them inside another bowl. He uncaps the vial of limonene and pours a liberal amount on top of the mound of Styrofoam. The Styrofoam soon begins to melt. It sizzles and hisses as it turns into a liquid. Germany gingerly picks up Russia's flask of vodka.</p><p>"What percent alcohol is this?" The German man asks, making eye contact with Russia as he speaks.</p><p>For a moment, Russia appears threatened, but he quickly relaxes. "It's ninety-something proof, I think,"</p><p>America reels back in surprise, but Russia and Germany ignore it. Germany unscrews the flask and pours half the contents into the bowl of melted styrofoam. Russia cringes.</p><p>Germany sets the flask down and quickly stirs the mixture in the bowl with a pen. Soon, a small blob of styrofoam gunk forms around the end of the pen.</p><p>Germany sets the pen down on a napkin before turning back to the distilled oranges. A fair amount of liquid has collected in the second bowl. He drops a chunk of styrofoam inside, as well as some more vodka.</p><p>"Don't waste all my vodka," Russia hisses.</p><p>Germany chuckles. "You don't need it, dude,"</p><p>Russia bites his tongue to prevent himself from lashing out at the German in front of him. America pats his back, only to get his hand swat.</p><p>Germany removes the new glob of styrofoam gunk and sets it next to the first one. He places the two pieces of styrofoam inside another bowl and sets that on top of three other upside-down bowls. He slides in a couple candles underneath, lighting them as he slides them in.</p><p>Germany continues the process with the styrofoam, vodka and limonene. Soon, he has a large mound of styrofoam gunk sitting in the bowl cooking over the candles.</p><p>"This is so weird," America suddenly says, earning a 'duh' from Germany and a flick on the back of the head from Russia. America's glasses fly off from the force of Russia's flick and land next to the cooking pile of styrofoam. Germany carefully picks them up, handing them back to their owner. America nods a thanks as he puts them back on.</p><p>Germany goes back to the styrofoam and starts to stir the pile. It slowly shrinks and hardens, forming a sturdy block about the size of a human hand.</p><p>"Woah!" America gasps, leaning forward to get a closer look. "That's black magic frickery, dude. No way did you just make that out of orange peels, vodka and styrofoam,"</p><p>Germany chuckles, carefully setting the block on a fresh napkin. "I made it! And I need to use your pocket knife again,"</p><p>America hands over the knife. Germany takes it and immediately starts hacking away at the block. Suddenly, he stops. He sets down the knife.</p><p>"Russia, punch the block," He orders.</p><p>Russia adjusts his ushanka. "What? Why?"</p><p>"Just do it,"</p><p>Russia doesn't hesitate to beat the everloving crap out of the block of styrofoam. But as soon as his fist first collides with the block, he yelps and stops.</p><p>"Ай! Блядь!" Russia curses, clutching his fist with his unhurt hand.</p><p>America shrugs and punches the block, only to react the same way. "Goddamnit!"</p><p>Germany cackles like a mad scientist. He takes a thick sharpie from his back pocket and uncaps it with his mouth before spitting the cap onto the table. He draws a knife shape on the Styrofoam brick. He holds it up for the other two to see.</p><p>"Does this look okay?"</p><p>Russia and America nod in unison. America is still clutching the fist he punched the brick with.</p><p>Germany sets the white brick on the table again, capping his sharpie and tucking it away. He holds his hand out to America.</p><p>"Give me your pocket knife again,"</p><p>America hands it over. "Break my knife, and I'll break your kneecaps,"</p><p>Russia chuckles at America's newly formed fear of Styrofoam. The American retaliates by sticking his tongue out at Russia and blowing a raspberry.</p><p>Germany starts hacking at the brick before Russia and America can start hitting each other. The room is filled with a dreadful scraping sound as the knife hurries back and forth across the fortified Styrofoam. Russia and America hurry to stick their fingers in their ears to protect themselves from the sound. Germany, however, is used to the abrasive noises of engineering.</p><p>"You about done with our Styrofoam knife?" America uncovers his ears for a brief moment to impatiently jab at Germany.</p><p>Germany holds up the partially-made blade. "Does it look like it?"</p><p>America covers his ears again once Germany continues sawing away at the brick.</p><p>About an hour full of impatient American groaning and irritated Russian slapping later, Germany produces a short, thin white knife. He brandishes it in the air above him, a proud smile present on his face.</p><p>Russia and America stare in awe, admiring the tiny blade in Germany's hands. Carefully, Germany passes the knife to Russia.</p><p>Russia holds the blade cautiously, silently examining Germany's craftsmanship. He lifts the edge of his sleeve to reveal the back of his hand. With little hesitation, he quickly nicks his hand with the blade. He makes a small sound of surprise before wiping his hand and passing the knife to America.</p><p>America whistles. "Good job, Ger. This is really neat," His words come southern-wrapped as he compliments the German's work.</p><p>Germany chuckles, locking his arms behind his back. He shakes his head. "It's really nothing... I've made cooler, much more intriguing things at home,"</p><p>Russia jabs at America. "Yeah, dude. He's not kidding. I've seen his garage,"</p><p>The American prepares to tuck the knife safely away in his pocket. Before he can do so much as make a move to his pocket, Russia rips the weapon from him and hands it back to Germany.</p><p>Germany nods and puts the knife in his own pocket. "My knife. Get your own,"</p><p>America gasps in protest. "No way am I going to remember how to make that!"</p><p>"A good magician never reveals his secrets!"</p><p>America growls, folding his arms over his chest. He gives Germany a look.</p><p>Russia is quick to slap the attitude off America's face. In turn, America swings his fist at the Slav. This sparks a fight between the two.</p><p>Germany, laughing to himself quietly, slinks out of the room with the knife, leaving the two to beat each other.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes. Germany made a knife out of Styrofoam, Russian blood and orange cocaine. What are you gonna do about it?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. I'm Not Touching You (South Korea x North Korea, kinda)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: self-injury/self-harm, (one-sided) incest</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if anybody speaks korean and would like to correct the korean in this fic, by all means, go for it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"...North?"</p><p>North represses a groan and leans over the railing of the top bunk. He stares down at his twin. "What?"</p><p>South shifts in his bed, the mattress creaking with his movements. "Uhm. A little help?"</p><p>North rolls his eyes. "What's your problem?"</p><p>"It's bleeding!" South squeaks.</p><p>"What's bleeding?"</p><p>The other Korean is silent for a moment. He stares down at his legs, which are covered by the sheets and hidden away from North.</p><p>"Can you come down here?"</p><p>For a moment, North considers climbing back under his blankets and ignoring him, but South sounds a little too serious about whatever's going on.</p><p>"One moment,"</p><p>"고마워요," South says.<em> (Thank you, brother.)</em></p><p>The wood of the bunk bed they share creaks and groans as North climbs down the ladder to reach his sibling. As soon as his socked feet touch the carpet, South scoots over to make room for him, like he wants North to sit next to him.</p><p>But North doesn't sit down. Instead, he stands in front of South with a bitter frown and crossed arms.</p><p>"What's wrong with you?" His flat voice seeps with forced disinterest.</p><p>South whimpers and gently lifts up the sheets covering his legs, revealing dozens of little slits on his upper and inner thighs. Some are partially healed, but others appear like they'd been done less than half an hour ago.</p><p>North's eyes widen as he takes a step back. North wasn't at all squeamish— he'd seen his fair share of bloodshed— but the sight of South's cut-up legs made him uneasy.</p><p>"뭐 했어?" North forces himself not to yell at his visibly shaken brother. <em>(What did you do?)</em></p><p>South looks down at the mattress with wet eyes. "I don't know,"</p><p>"That's not an answer," North grimaces, crouching down to be at eye-level with South. He points to one of the fresher cuts. "Why are you doing this?"</p><p>South whimpers and buries his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, 북쪽,"<em> (North.)</em></p><p>North walks out the small bedroom and wets a washcloth with warm water in the sink. He rummages through the drawers and eventually finds some antibiotic ointment. He returns to his spot in front of South, getting onto his knees.</p><p>"Let me see your legs,"</p><p>South scoots forward silently.</p><p>North gently pats South's thighs clean, wiping away the dried and wet blood. When he's finished, one side of the washcloth has a brown-red tint. Next, he unscrews the cap from the tube of antibiotic ointment and squeezes a liberal amount onto his fingers. With cautious hands, he rubs the ointment into South's skin.</p><p>South bites his lip, watching North's movements through wide eyes. North suddenly pulls away.</p><p>"바보 같은 소년. 다시는 그렇게하지 마십시오," He turns to the ladder to climb back onto his bunk. <em>(Stupid boy. Don't do that again.)</em></p><p>South makes no move to slip back under the sheets. Instead, he looks up at his brother. "North?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Can you come back down here?" South tries.</p><p>North groans for the second time that night and clambers back down the ladder. He stops in front of South. "What do you want?"</p><p>"Can you touch me again?"</p><p>North immediately hurries back towards the ladder. He glares at South. "I'm not touching you,"</p><p>South says nothing, only sliding back under the blankets with his now clean cuts. He buries his head into his pillow, unable to comprehend what just happened.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. that epic gamer moment when you almost kill your wife (this is shit dont read dont read dont read)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: drunk driving</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm not that drunk, мой прекрасный..." USSR waves his hand dismissively. He holds up the shiny keys in his right hand and they clank with the sudden movement. His other hand opens the car door for the woman. "I can drive!"</p><p>Afghanistan carefully slides into the passenger seat, her hands on her bulging pregnant belly. She gives the Russian a trusting look. "Whatever you say, Soviet. Remember, you've got two passengers in the vehicle!"</p><p>USSR chuckles, sticking the keys into ignition after buckling his seatbelt. He turns to pat his wife's belly. "I wonder if they make seatbelts for fetuses..."</p><p>"You're definitely drunk,"</p><p>USSR shakes his head. "No! I'm not drunk. Not at all. Even if we get pulled over, I know how to trick the cops," His words come wrapped with an even-thicker-than-usual Russian accent.</p><p>USSR wasn't telling the truth, and both Afghanistan and USSR knew it. However, USSR would rather risk a ticket than let his pregnant wife drive.</p><p>USSR presses his foot on the gas after putting the car in reverse. He skillfully backs out of the parking space and drives into the street, despite his tipsiness.</p><p>"Please don't get us pulled over, or worse. I can always take the wheel if you need me to..." Afghanistan tells her husband, but he shakes his head vigorously.</p><p>"Like I said..." USSR makes a turn. "I'm not that drunk. We'll be fine,"</p><hr/><p>USSR groans painfully, turning his head to his right with his eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. His eyes flicker open to check on Afghanistan.</p><p>USSR immediately jerks up, unbuckling his seatbelt and scrambling to his wife despite his muscles screaming in protest.</p><p>There's a large gash beginning at her upper thigh that curved upward and into her stomach. Red, hot, metallic-smelling liquid pours profusely from the wound. Her eyes are shut and she's got her head buried in her own shoulder. USSR can't tell if she's breathing.</p><p>Before he can stop himself, he's screaming.</p><p>"Somebody come help! I've killed my wife!"</p><p>Something unbearably warm and wet drips down his cheeks. The Russian doesn't bother wiping away his tears, instead banging his fist against the windshield as hard as he can and continuing to scream for help.</p><hr/><p>USSR didn't kill Afghanistan.</p><p>He killed his unborn son.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. European ONion is a fucker and i hate him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>cw: mentions nazism for one second ig</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Speaking of slavery, our next guest speaker is a slave to science,"</p><p>Germany hides his face in his hands, the paper he's holding crumpling slightly as it's crushed by his face. He stands by the door, mentally preparing himself to give his presentation. European Union's gaze flickers to the extremely anxious Germany waiting in the doorway, a shit eating grin plastered on his mouth.</p><p>"Germany is essentially the Bill Nye of all of us," EU continues speaking after quickly gesturing for Germany to join him at the front of the room.</p><p>"Well, I wouldn't say that," Germany chuckles nervously, letting EU hand him a microphone. "I can't even pretend to believe I'm comparable to Bill Nye. He's irreplaceable,"</p><p>"Nonsense," European Union laughs. He points to the white board, handing Germany a dry-erase marker. "Go ahead and tell us what you have to say, Germany,"</p><p>With that, the European Union steps away from the country and takes a seat at the head of the table. Germany uncaps the marker, the cap making a loud popping sound in the nearly silent room. He swallows a golf ball sized lump in his throat.</p><p>"So..." Germany starts. He clears his throat. "Today's topic is going to be a little more morbid, which I apologize for in advance,"</p><p>There's a few groans of protest from the audience. They're not to heckle Germany, but Germany still feels a stir in his gut.</p><p>"In 2010, Julijonas Urbonas designed a hypothetical roller coaster designed to painlessly kill its passengers," Germany continues, despite the compelling urge to sink to the floor and take cover in the fetal position.</p><p>"Quite morbid, indeed," European Union comments. It means nothing on its own, but with the tone European Union said it with, it stings.</p><p>Germany ignores the union and turns to the whiteboard for a moment to draw a rough sketch of a roller coaster with a large drop and seven loops. Each consecutive loop is smaller than the one behind it.</p><p>"Urbonas called his invention the 'Euthanasia Coaster'. The coaster had a height of 510 meters, a drop of 500 meters and seven inversions..." Germany points to the loops at the end. "The entire coaster was 7,544 meters long and could reach a staggering 360 kilometers per hour,"</p><p>America suddenly raises his hand. "Excuse me, sorry. Could you say those in the imperial system?"</p><p>Germany nods. "Of course, no problem,"</p><p>The Germany makes a few unintelligible scribbles off to the side as he does the math. Once he's finished, he quickly wipes away the equations. "The coaster had a height 1,670 feet and a drop of 1,600 feet. The length of the Euthanasia Coaster was 24,751 feet and it could reach a speed of 220 miles per hour,"</p><p>America's jaw drops slightly, but he quickly closes his mouth again. He thanks Germany before settling back into his seat.</p><p>Germany rewrites all the measurements, both in the metric and imperial systems above the coaster on the board. "It was designed to hold 24 passengers on board, all of which would die at the end of the ride,"</p><p>"...Sounds like something a Nazi would make,"</p><p>Germany's head jerks up in search of the country who dare to say such a thing, but all the countries in the audience are looking around in confusion, too. Germany gives up and speaks through gritted teeth.</p><p>"The Euthanasia Coaster was a Lithuanian invention, thank you very much,"</p><p>Germany expects everyone to turn to face Lithuania, who's seated in the far back, but nothing else happens. He moves on like nothing happened, hiding his anger.</p><p>"The Euthanasia Coaster, if it were ever built, would stand three times taller than the Kindga Ka in Six Flags, New Jersey. If you were to put the One World Trade Center, the tallest building in the United States, and the Euthanasia Coaster side by side, the coaster would be only a tad bit shorter than the One World Trade Center,"</p><p>Germany takes a quick glance at America, who he expects to stiffen at the mention of the World Trade Center, but America is completely calm.</p><p>"It would take riders a full two minutes to reach the top of the giant hill," Germany points to the tallest point of the coaster with the end of the marker. "Which would give the riders time to... cont.. Contenblate. Sorry, hard word. It would give the riders time to contenblate their ultimate decision to get on the coaster in the first place,"</p><p>"It's pronounced <em>contemplate, </em>genius," European Union corrects him. He shoots Germany a bitter glare.</p><p>"Apologies. English is a difficult language sometimes," Germany says nervously.</p><p>A few countries seated up front nod in agreement, including (funnily enough) America.</p><p>The European Union doesn't drop his expression, though. He taps his fingers apprehensively on his clipboard. "I thought you were smarter than this, Germany,"</p><p>Germany raises a brow in confusion, tilting his head. "I beg your pardon?"</p><p>European Union can't continue because ASEAN and Israel are ushering him into the hall outside the meeting room. Germany looks on in hurt confusion.</p><p>"Don't listen to him," Britain says, scooting forward in his chair with genuine interest. "Tell us more!"</p><p>Lithuania nods vigorously. "Please! I'm surprised I didn't know about this,"</p><p>Many other countries pitch in to give Germany their support. Germany smiles before continuing. He takes a breath.</p><p>"It would take the coaster sixty seconds to go through all seven of these inversions, reaching terminal velocity. By the end, the rider would have experienced 10 Gs of force. Here's some more information to better understand the feeling of 10 Gs,"</p><p>The countries nod.</p><p>"If you're standing on the surface of Earth at sea level, you would experience 1 G. If you were to accelerate from zero miles per hour to sixty miles per hour in 2.4 seconds inside a Bugatti Veyron, you'd experience 1.55 Gs of force. If you were on a space shuttle during launch you'd be put through 3 Gs. Driving a Formula One car around a sharp lateral turn would give you a taste of 6.5 Gs. And even the astronauts aboard Apollo 11 during reentry only experienced 7.19 Gs. Would you like to know what exactly would happen to you when you experience 10 Gs for sixty seconds on this death coaster?"</p><p>Everyone nods enthusiastically. Germany caps the dry-erase marker and leans back against a clean part of the board. He rests his hands on the gray metal bar below.</p><p>Germany clears his throat and speaks with a newfound confidence. "You would gradually begin experiencing worsening cases of cerebral hypoxia... Meaning that your blood would rush to the lower regions of your body and your brain wouldn't receive enough oxygen to survive. The first thing you would notice is your vision graying out, which would gradually turn into tunnel vision. From there, you would blackout and eventually die while unconscious,"</p><p>"Fun!" Poland claps.</p><p>Germany chuckles. He starts speaking again before the other countries can begin applauding, too. "While rather morbid, the Euthanasia Coaster was designed with the intent of providing people with horrifically painful diseases or incurable conditions the ability to end their lives with a painless and euphoric experience. However, the Euthanasia Coaster is nothing but a concept. It's always been a testament to the lengths of the human imagination. An art piece! And an art piece it should remain,"</p><p>With that, the room erupts with applause.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Headcanons and Character Infodump???? (very shit don't read)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: disordered eating, alcoholism, drug use, child abuse, abuse, drug addiction, and mentions of nazism, homophobia (internalized)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>characters with triggering content will have a warning beside their name</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>America <b>(TW, disordered eating)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Polysexual <br/>Drinks: Socially<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, smatterings of many other languages <br/>Other:<br/>• Carries a handgun everywhere. This pisses off some countries, like Britain<br/>• Dark sense of humor<br/>• Recovering bulimic</p><hr/><p>Canada <b>(TW, drugs)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Pansexual <br/>Drinks: Barely<br/>Smokes: Smokes weed often<br/>Languages: English, French<br/>Other:<br/>• Seemingly innocent, but is actually far from it<br/>• Protective over Ukraine and Ukraine's identity<br/>• W E E D</p><hr/><p>Australia <b>(TW, drugs)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Questioning<br/>Drinks: Socially<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Dutch<br/>Other:<br/>• Basically Steve Irwin<br/>• Recovered meth addict</p><hr/><p>Britain</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Probably bisexual <br/>Drinks: Socially<br/>Smokes: Y E S *eats cigarette*<br/>Languages: English, smatterings of Welsh, smatterings of Irish and Scottish Gaelic</p><p>Other:<br/>• His children (mostly America) call him gay a lot. His wife, France, finds this hilarious.<br/>• Used to be a tyrannical, colonial maniac. But he's more chill now dw. but hes still an asshole</p><hr/><p>France <b>(TW, sexual assault)</b></p><p>Pronouns: She/her<br/>Gender: Female<br/>Sex: Female<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual<br/>Drinks: Glass of wine every dinner<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, French <br/>Other:<br/>• Carries pepper spray at all times. She does this because she's afraid of being assaulted, like Third Reich did to her :(<br/>• Acts like an aunt to Germany</p><hr/><p>Greece</p><p>Pronouns: He/him, they/them<br/>Gender: Questioning<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Questioning<br/>Drinks: Socially<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Greek<br/>Other: <br/>• Sensitive bab, argues with Germany all the time about his debt</p><hr/><p>Spain <b>(TW, abuse, internalized homophobia)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Homosexual<br/>Drinks: A few drinks a week<br/>Smokes: Sometimes<br/>Languages: English, Spanish<br/>Other:<br/>• Insecure about his sexuality, which is why he treated Philippines so poorly when they were together</p><hr/><p>Mexico</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Aaaaaaaa?<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: Sometimes<br/>Languages: English, Spanish<br/>Other:<br/>• Slowly developing a crush on America and only Canada knows. No, America doesn't reciprocate.</p><hr/><p>Poland <b>(TW, alcoholism, the Holocaust)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Pansexual<br/>Drinks: Alcoholic<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Polish (this used to say Spanish for some reason wtf I'm so sorry)<br/>Other:<br/>• Catholic, converted from Judaism after his Jewish population was killed</p><hr/><p>Ireland</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Questioning, probably bisexual or heterosexual <br/>Drinks: He's Irish. What do you think?<br/>Smokes: Barely<br/>Languages: English, Irish Gaelic <br/>Other:<br/>• Often fights with his twin, Northern Ireland. He just wants to free North from Britain.</p><hr/><p>Scotland</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Homosexual<br/>Drinks: y e s <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Scottish Gaelic<br/>Other:<br/>• "FREEEEDOOOOM!!!!!"</p><hr/><p>Wales<br/>Pronouns: He/him, they/them<br/>Gender: Closeted non-binary<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Pansexual<br/>Drinks: Sometimes<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Welsh<br/>Other:<br/>• Often steps in to prevent Ireland and Northern Ireland from beating the everloving crap out of each other <br/>• Passive</p><hr/><p>Northern Ireland<br/>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual<br/>Drinks: Again, he's Irish. <br/>Smokes: Sometimes<br/>Languages: English, Irish Gaelic<br/>Other:<br/>• Violent when provoked<br/>• Fickle</p><hr/><p>Sweden</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Homosexual<br/>Drinks: Sometimes<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Swedish <br/>Other: <br/>• DRAMA QUEEN<br/>• Fights with Estonia and Finland sometimes</p><hr/><p>Finland</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual<br/>Drinks: Sometimes<br/>Smokes: Sometimes<br/>Languages: English, Finnish, Swedish, smatterings of Russian<br/>Other:<br/>• Crush on Estonia<br/>• Stoic and sarcastic, but a total sweetheart to Estonia</p><hr/><p>Norway</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Homosexual<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Norwegian, Sámi<br/>Other:<br/>• Energetic. Really energetic. Like wtf?? How??</p><hr/><p>Denmark</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Bisexual<br/>Drinks: Socially<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: Danish, English<br/>Other:<br/>• L E G O S</p><hr/><p>Iceland <b>(TW, drugs)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male <br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Questioning<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Icelandic<br/>Other:<br/>• Drug addict. Nobody knows yet, but his brothers are suspicious <br/>• He's withdrawing from his family and friends, isolating himself</p><hr/><p>Greenland</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: yes<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: Greenlandic, English<br/>Other:<br/>• Definitely gay for Antarctica</p><hr/><p>Prussia</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual <br/>Drinks: Often<br/>Smokes: Sometimes<br/>Languages: English, Old Prussian, German<br/>Other:<br/>• Arrogant, loves to be the center of attention </p><hr/><p>German Empire <b>(TW, child abuse)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual <br/>Drinks: Socially<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: German, English<br/>Other:<br/>• Awful, trash human being<br/>• Abused his youngest son, Third Reich</p><hr/><p>Reichtangle <b>(TW, sexual </b><b>violence)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: ??? Idk man<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: German, smatterings of English<br/>Other:<br/>• Raped and murdered Poland in another timeline <br/>• (Usually) doesn't talk much</p><hr/><p>Third Reich <b>(TW, Nazi stuff, child abuse, murder)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: jgfsjvdvbjjnbjkd<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: Daily<br/>Languages: English, German, smatterings of Russian<br/>Other:<br/>• Awful<br/>• Horribly racist, believes Aryans are the superior race <br/>• Abused as a child (this doesn't redeem him or create an excuse for his actions, by the way)<br/>• Beat Germany when Germany was a kid<br/>• Murdered his brother, Weimar Republic. Nobody knows except for Third, the Soviet Union and Weimar</p><hr/><p>Weimar Republic <b>(TW, murder)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual?? Probably bi, but didn't live long enough to embrace who he was :(<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, German<br/>Other:<br/>• Tired from lifting the weight of WW1<br/>• Murdered by his brother, Third Reich<br/>• Needs a nap</p><hr/><p>Germany <b>(TW, self harm, alcoholism)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Much gay<br/>Drinks: Recovering alcoholic<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, German, smatterings of Russian<br/>Other:<br/>• Used to cut. Has scars on his ankles and arms<br/>• A genius, basically Micheal Reeves and Albert Einstein yeeted together</p><hr/><p>EU/European Union</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: No<br/>Drinks: Sometimes <br/>Smokes: Barely<br/>Languages: English, Bulgarian, Croatian, Czech, Danish, Dutch, Estonian, Finnish, French, German, Greek, Hungarian, Irish Gaelic, Italian, Latvian, Lithuanian, Maltese, Polish, Portuguese, Romanian, Slovak, Slovene, Spanish, Swedish<br/>Other:<br/>• A big bag of dicks <br/>• Doesn't really give a crap about his countries, only wants power<br/>• Treats the other Powers poorly</p><hr/><p>UN/United Nations</p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual <br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Arabic, Mandarin, French, Russian, Spanish, Polish<br/>Other:<br/>• A lot nicer than EU, but still kinda crappy</p><hr/><p>ASEAN/Association of Southeast Asian Nations</p><p>Pronouns: They/them<br/>Gender: Non-binary<br/>Sex: Female<br/>Sexuality: Pansexual<br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Indonesian, Thai, Isan, Kam Mueang, Pak Tai, Malay, Tagalog, Vietnamese, Burmese, Kayah, Khmer, French, Lao, Khmu, Hokkien Chinese<br/>Other:<br/>• EU doesn't understand their gender identity and refuses to use their correct pronouns :(<br/>• Caring and calm, but sensitive bab<br/>• Trying to learn more of their countries' languages because they're curious and want to appeal more to their countries</p><hr/><p>Russian Empire <b>(TW, murder, internalized homophobia, abuse)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: "It's not gay if I kill him afterwards."<br/>Drinks: Y E S<br/>Smokes: Barely<br/>Languages: French, Russian, smatterings of English<br/>Other:<br/>• Never raised the Soviet Union or Russian America/Alaska himself. He hired tutors to educate and raise his children<br/>• Possibly abused his wife, Old Russia<br/>• Soviet murdered him</p><hr/><p>Old Russia <b>(TW, abuse)</b></p><p>Pronouns: She/her<br/>Gender: Female<br/>Sex: Female<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual <br/>Drinks: Socially<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: French, Russian<br/>Other:<br/>• Her husband, Russian Empire, treated her poorly<br/>• Never speaks unless spoken to. This is a habit likely picked up from her husband's abuse<br/>• Allowed Russian Empire to do all the ruling. She never left the house or attended world meetings<br/>• Died of illness shortly after Russian Empire sold Russian America/Alaska to America</p><hr/><p>USSR/Soviet Union <b>(TW, murder, alcoholism, self harm, internalized homophobia)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Communism<br/>(no lol he's a man)<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: "It's not gay if you're wearing socks."<br/>Drinks: Recovered alcoholic<br/>Smokes: Often<br/>Languages: English, Russian<br/>Other:<br/>• Can be violent and cruel, but would never lay a finger on his children. He'd defend them with a rusty spoon if he had to :3<br/>• Sad Afghanistan cheated on him<br/>• Also very sad and angry that Third Reich tried to kill him and his children<br/>• Used to cut. Has faint scars on his forearms</p><hr/><p>Russia <b>(TW, self harm, alcoholism, internalized homophobia)</b></p><p>Pronouns: He/him<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: <em>insecurity intensifies</em><br/>Drinks: Alcoholic<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Russian, smatterings of German<br/>Other: <br/>• Misses his Papa :(<br/>• Really good at chess because he used to play it with his father<br/>• Works with Germany on projects, usually on cars, tanks, or any of the weird ideas Russia comes up with</p><hr/><p>Ukraine</p><p>Pronouns: They/them<br/>Gender: Agender<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Sexuality: Pansexual <br/>Drinks: Socially <br/>Smokes: No, but tried weed once with Canada and didn't like it<br/>Languages: English, Russian, Ukrainian <br/>Other:<br/>• Rebels against their father<br/>• F L O W E R S</p><hr/><p>Belarus</p><p>Pronouns: She/her<br/>Gender: Female<br/>Sex: Female<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual<br/>Drinks: Sometimes<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Languages: English, Russian, Belarusian<br/>Other:<br/>• Mature and caring<br/>• Watches after Russia to make sure he doesn't hurt himself</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Was Ich Wollte</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>shameless self-promotion of my book was ich wollte. go read it if interested</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: child abuse, awful...,.,, nazi man</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"But Vater! Weimar gets to play in the yard, but I don't? Es ist nicht fair!" The young country cried, tugging on the pant leg of his father's uniform. He struggled to keep up with the tall man's long strides, often stumbling and tripping over his own feet. "Hörst du nicht zu?"</p><p>German Empire scowled at the child and pushed him away with a not-so-gentle kick to the stomach. Third yelped, clutching his stomach as he tumbled to the hardwood floor. The father didn't stop to console the crying country. Instead, he continued marching to his office.</p><p>Third sniffled and got to his feet. He held onto the wall for balance, unable to hold his weight on his shaky legs. "Vater, du hast mich verletzt..."</p><p>"English!" German Empire barked.</p><p>"Dad, that hurt..." He whimpered, pressing a hand to his stomach. He rubbed his arm, which still ached from a similar event yesterday.</p><p>German Empire ignored his youngest son, rummaging through his breast pocket and eventually pulling out a set of keys. He slid a key into the slot and stepped into the now unlocked study. Third Reich tried to follow his father into the room, but was shoved away as the door slammed in his face.</p><p>"Papa! Bitte, lass mich ein! Ich bin hungrig!"</p><p>"You should've eaten at breakfast!"</p><p>Third studied his shoes, wringing his little hands. He winced as his stomach growled loudly. "You did not give me breakfast..."</p><p>"Verlassen! Gehen Sie in Ihr Zimmer!" German Empire roared.</p><p>Third squeaked, shuffling away from the door. He backed out the long corridor and rushed through the kitchen before ducking into the room he and his brother shared.</p><p>Weimar's side of the room was a stark contrast from Third's half. Weimar's queen-sized bed was covered in soft, fluffy blankets and two pillows sat at the base of the headboard. The carpet was clean. Toys were tucked away in a small, brightly colored chest in the far corner. The bed was pressed cozily into the opposite corner and a dark oak nightstand sat beside the right side of the bed.</p><p>Third Reich's side of the room was barren. A twin-sized mattress sat on the ground, the frame missing. German Empire had taken the frame away as punishment when he was a few years younger. A single, plain white sheet covered the dirty mattress, which was riddled with tears and holes. If you ran your fingers across the wall, flakes of paint and dust would fly everywhere. Deep red marks on the carpet beside the door left a constant reminder of his father's harsh repercussions. Third didn't need to see the stains to remember, though. The never-ending dull ache in his bones and the cigarette burns on his forearms were present often enough to keep him in check.</p><p>Weimar was outside, playing in the yard with his friends, Belgium and Switzerland. Third could hear the playful and cheery laughs from the three. They were all speaking English, a language Third wasn't familiar with. German Empire never bothered to teach him, yet expected him to understand the confusing language. Third tried to learn by himself, listening to the English-speaking countries when he went outside and mimicking their speech at home. He practiced often in his room. He would take home books from school and try to read them in English, but it wasn't easy. Everything looked and sounded the same.</p><p>Third continued listening to his brother and friends. He could understand a few words and phrases, enough to put two and two together but not enough to comprehend the entire conversation. The long, slurred sounds made little sense. Weimar would often mix German words into his English, which made him easiest to understand out of the three.</p><p>Third's heart hurt at the happy cries from outside. He wished he could join his brother in the yard, but his father wouldn't let him leave the house today.</p><p>English didn't make sense, but German Empire made even less sense sometimes. He always treated Weimar well, keeping him well-fed and helping him with his schoolwork, yet neglected Third. Weimar could come home from school and didn't have to worry about begging for a bite of dinner. He didn't have to watch over his shoulder in case his father suddenly felt like being violent. He didn't have to work for basic necessities, like clean water. Whenever Weimar got into trouble, Third would always get the punishment. Weimar didn't even have to blame him for whatever he did; Third Reich was just the whipping boy.</p><p>Third would be polite. He would speak English as best he could. He would do whatever his father said. Yet everyday, he would somehow do something wrong, such as leaving the door open or dropping a plate. It's normal for young children to be clumsy or forgetful, but German Empire didn't seem to care his son was only seven years old.</p><p>Third jumped at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. He shuffled away from the closed door, tripping on his lonely bedsheet and plopping onto his mattress. The door swung open to reveal his father's cold and distant gaze. Third swallowed a lump forming in his throat.</p><p>"You left the light on in the hallway,"</p><p>Third looked up at German Empire with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't understand—,"</p><p>"Du hast das Licht angelassen, dumm!" The tall country roared, stepping into the children's room. "I thought I told you to learn English, you brat!"</p><p>Third Reich trembled violently. "I'm trying!"</p><p>The Empire's boots left deep imprints in the carpet as he approached the child. Third let out a pain-stricken whimper. German Empire's gloved hand gently traced the outline of his son's face, seemingly soothing the seven year old, before delivering a painful slap. Third yelped and scrambled away from his father, rubbing his red cheek.</p><p>"Don't run away from me!"</p><p>Third doubled over and sobbed into his hands, his knees buckling as he sunk to the ground. His father went after him and yanked him back up by his wrist. The boy screamed, pressing his back firm against the wall and thrashing wildly in German Empire's hold. German Empire's free hand wrapped around the child's throat and squeezed. Third gasped. His mouth hung open as he struggled for air. He beat his hands against his father's chest, trying to push him away. Hot, salty tears spilled from his wide eyes.</p><p>German Empire finally released him as Third Reich started seeing stars. Third dropped to the floor with a thump, rubbing his neck and coughing violently. The father gave him a final smack to the side of the head before spinning on his heels and marching out the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.</p><p>Third reached a hand to clutch his rattling skull, sniffling when he felt the tender skin forming a bruise. He shuffled to his bed and climbed under the sheet. He pulled the thin material over his body, curling into a ball and doing his best to muffle his cries.</p><p>The three children playing in the yard heard every bit of what went on inside the house. Switzerland turned to Weimar, dropping the stick she held in her hand. "What's that?"</p><p>Weimar tilted his head. "What's what?"</p><p>Belgium nudged the German boy and pointed in the direction of the house. They all stopped and listened closely to Third's weeping.</p><p>"Oh! Uh...." Weimar shook his head, dismissing the subject. He shifted uncomfortably. "Happens all the time. Ignore it,"</p><p>Switzerland squinted at the country before shrugging her shoulders and picking up the stick again. She charged at Belgium, who was scrambling up a tree. "Get off my land, ver visqueux!"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Alternate Universes (terrible latin because idk how to name things)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Okay so here's a concept:There's multiple universes in countryhumans. Sort of like alternate realities. Neither the countries nor the humans know other versions of themselves exist.</p><p>I've explored this concept in my other book, Was Ich Wollte (but the chapter that mentions multiple universes isn't up yet hhhhhhhh, when I mention "Rem", I am referring to the countryhumans universe closest to our reality and where majority of my stories are written in.</p><p>PLEASE DONT ASK WHY I USED LATIN OKAY ITS A SCARY BIG BRAIN LANGUAGE</p><p>Oh and TW?? Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to the more violent parts of history or murder.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>pay close attention in this book if you want to spot references!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Impetum (AKA "The Reichtangle Universe)</em>
</p><p><b>-</b>Poland is murdered by Reichtangle at a party in 1914 (This is mentioned in my other book, Redeuntem)</p><p>-This universe ends before WW1 can even happen</p><p>-Canada is part of Russian Empire's territory</p><p>-This universe ends in 1914, right when Poland is killed</p><p>Reason for ending: Earth (yes, planethumans) realized it was foolish to give [REDACTED] a second chance.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>O Irrumabo (AKA "WW2: Alternate Ending")</em>
</p><p>-Third Reich won WW2</p><p>-UK, France, Poland, USSR (and Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Moldova, Kyrgyzstan), Serbia, Israel, Greece and Netherlands are all dead</p><p>-German is the new "world language"</p><p>-The world is soon overpopulated because abortion is illegal and human women are forced to reproduce as much as possible</p><p>-Pollution is even more prevalent</p><p>-This universe ends in 2003</p><p>Reason for ending: Earth couldn't bear to watch anymore.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Tardius Jogs</em>
</p><p>-Originally an experiment to see what would happen to the world if the earth's rotation slowed</p><p>-Most countries are dead, either killed from the flooding or the lack of oxygen</p><p>-This universe ends in 1781</p><p>Reason for ending: Earth felt bad for torturing their babies :(</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Est Spem (AKA "Wirtschaftliche Reparatur")</em>
</p><p>-WW2 never happened because Third Reich turned his life around</p><p>-Instead of being murdered, Weimar Republic passes away peacefully in his sleep in 1939. Third Reich rules for a few decades, fixing the economy before handing the country over to his son, Germany.</p><p>-Earth's favorite universe</p><p>-This universe is ongoing</p><p> </p><p>N O T  MEANT TO REDEEM THIRD REICH!! HE IS AWFUL!!!</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Deficit Revolution</em>
</p><p>-France chooses not to assist America in the American Revolution, so America loses the war</p><p>-Britain tightens his grip on America, taxing him even more and passing several acts that make life in the United States miserable.</p><p>-France, fearing for her children's safety because Britain is lashing out at both her and their children, sends Australia and New Zealand to go live with their biological father, Netherlands. Unfortunately, Britain doesn't let her send America or Canada away.</p><p>-Manifest Destiny is never fulfilled. Spain and Britain have control over the New World (Britain having Canada and America, Spain having everything else)</p><p>-This universe is ongoing. I fully fleshed out this universe, read the Deficit Revolution chapters if you're interested</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Surdi</em>
</p><p><em>-</em>Everybody is deaf.</p><p>-This universe is ongoing</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Densissisma (AKA "Thicc")</em>
</p><p>-America is slightly more thicc</p><p>-This universe ends in 3069 because America is too thicc for the world to handle</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Consumptam Mœrore</em>
</p><p>-Mexico and America are happily married</p><p>-Canada and Russia are together. Ukraine is pining for Canada and neither Canada nor Russia know.</p><p>-Ireland is part of the United Kingdom (ew lol)</p><p>-For some reason, Brazil speaks Spanish instead of Portuguese. This was an accident, but it's mostly harmless and Earth doesn't really care.</p><p>-Together, Germany and Japan make anime cat girls real</p><p>-Peru really doesn't like corn. He expresses his disgust for the vegetable at every opportunity.</p><p>-This universe is ongoing</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Pacifismi</em>
</p><p><em>-</em>EU is much nicer</p><p>-North Korea still refuses to communicate with others, but he talks to South Korea when they're alone and even treats him kind of nicely</p><p>-Trees have rainbow leaves.</p><p>-Finland has thicker eyebrows</p><p>-Roman Empire's ghost haunts this universe. He likes to flip random objects upside down when nobody is looking. He also leaves those rainbow leaves everywhere to mess with people.</p><p>-There was no Berlin Wall because USSR starting falling apart sooner and died a few years earlier</p><p>-This universe is ongoing</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Deficit Revolution</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>america is fucking d e a d</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>pretend there’s elevators during this time period, mkay?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"That's enough! Sit down, boy, before I give you something to cry about!" Britain shouts, raising an extended index finger in the air. He slams his fist on the round table and gets to his feet, the countries seated around him reeling back in shock. "You've been nothing but a selfish brat these past thirteen years. I think it's time you've learned something about respect!"</p>
<p>The young American springs up from his seat. His hands pound against the table in front of him, shaking the wood and sending papers across the table. He grabs a single sheet of paper from the mess before him and holds it up proudly. "This here, my fellow countries, is my people's explanation for my separation from England!"</p>
<p>Shocked gasps fly from the mouths of the countries in the room. Canada and Australia look up at their brother with wide eyes, visibly moved by America's bold statement. Britain grabs young Colonial America by his arm, dragging him outside into the hallway.</p>
<p>"You rotten delinquent! If you weren't my eldest son, I'd have disowned you by now!" Britain shouts at his son as soon as they make it out of earshot. "What is the meaning of this?!"</p>
<p>"When a group of people is going to break away from another to form its own nation, it is proper to explain why they are doing so—,"</p>
<p>"Absolutely not!" Britain spits furiously, leaning in way too close.</p>
<p>Colonial America freezes, uncertainty present in his expression for a brief moment before he suddenly straightens his posture and clears his throat.</p>
<p>"You've repeatedly interfered with my people's rights. In doing so, you have unfairly ruled over me. ...Every time I felt I was being treated unfairly, I sent you my grievances. How did you answer? By treating my people even more unfairly. A ruler who abuses his power should not be able to rule! It is because of relentless taxation without representation, failure to acknowledge my people's complaints, abuse of power and general dissatisfaction with Parliament that I declare the American colonies independent from their Mother country!" America beams, feeling a newfound surge of confidence.</p>
<p>"No.”</p>
<p>Colonial America's face goes pale, draining of all color. "What?"</p>
<p>Britain shakes his head, his monocle shifting with the motion. "I said no. You have no idea how to run a country. You'll be crushed within the next decade."</p>
<p>"My people have already decided what they want. I'm sorry, but I have no choice but to revolt," America says, his confidence from before seemingly evaporated.</p>
<p>The Brit shakes his head again. "I said no," He speaks through gritted teeth. His grip on America's arm tightens.</p>
<p>America pulls away from Britain’s grasp and shoves the older country away. "Don't touch me like that!"</p>
<p>"I'll touch you however I want!"</p>
<p>America takes off down the hall in terror, his father barreling after him. He takes several sharp turns before entering a mini-lobby. Britain is hot on his tail, sprinting down the hall behind him. America frantically presses all the buttons to call the elevator, which arrives just in time for Britain to dart into the room. America practically punches the "close door" button in a panic and Britain’s tie gets stuck in the doors as they shut. As the elevator lowers itself down to the ground floor, the dark blue fabric of the tie rips. America rushes out the elevator and into the surface level lobby, immediately making his way to the front doors.</p>
<p>Locked.</p>
<p>"Fuck!" America spits angrily, unaware of the tears welling up in his eyes.</p>
<p>There's a loud ding from behind him and the elevator doors swish open.</p>
<p>America doesn't hesitate to duck into the women's restroom, which is thankfully empty. He locks himself in a stall, climbing up onto the toilet so his boots aren't visible through the gap at the bottom of the door. A few seconds later, America realizes he isn't alone.</p>
<p>"Amérique? What are you doing in here?" A familiar voice calls from the sinks.</p>
<p>America gasps before realizing it's only France. He sighs in relief. "Mom... I need your help.”</p>
<p>"Can you come out here?"</p>
<p>America hesitantly unlocks the door and exits the stall. He looks around to make sure only France and him are there before going over to his mother.</p>
<p>"Dad's mad at me again.”</p>
<p>France tilts her head, wiping her hands dry on a paper towel. She drops the wad of paper in the trashcan. "What happened?"</p>
<p>"I told him I wanted to be independent. I called him out in front of everybody..." America says, staring down at the dirty bathroom floor.</p>
<p>France makes a sound of surprise. She gently places her hands on America's shoulders, squeezing firmly, but not painfully tight like Britain.</p>
<p>"Mon fils, you've made a terrible mistake. You know he has a short temper. He's going to give you hell for this when we get home.”</p>
<p>"And that's why I need your help," America cuts in. "Your armed forces are much stronger than mine. With your assistance, I can defeat him and live independently. I know it's a lot to ask, but—,"</p>
<p>France steps back, eyes wide as she shakes her head. "Absolutely not. I can't help you... I'm sorry,"</p>
<p>"Mom—!" America tries, but France shakes her head again.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, mon fils. You've dug yourself a hole I can't help you out of. If I assist you, he'll punish both of us," France gives the young man a sad smile. Her eyes are wet. "Promise me you'll stay safe?"</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>Before France can answer, there's a loud knock on the door. The door bursts open and France shoves America back into the stall he hid in.</p>
<p>"Where is he?!" Britain shouts furiously. His expression is one you'd expect to see on a deranged serial killer. "He has to be in here!"</p>
<p>France approaches her husband, hands in the air as to not alarm him. "Who are you talking about, mon amor?"</p>
<p>America carefully steps onto the toilet again, squatting ever so slightly to prevent detection. The position makes his knees and calves burn, but he doesn't notice. He peeks through the gap above the lock in the door.</p>
<p>Britain snarls. "America! Who else?"</p>
<p>France shrugs. She's trying her best to keep her composure, but America can tell she's about to lose her resolve. "I haven't seen him, Britain. Maybe he went home?"</p>
<p>America loses his footing on the toilet seat and crashes to the ground with a thud. He hits his head on the stall wall on the way down.</p>
<p>"There he is! Don't you ever lie to me like that again!"</p>
<p>
  <em>Smack.</em>
</p>
<p>France lets out a sob, clutching her stinging, red cheek. America shoots up from his spot on the floor. He quickly darts out the stall.</p>
<p>France steps back, allowing America to race out of the bathroom. Britain follows behind him.</p>
<p>France turns on the faucet. She rips a paper towel from the roll and runs it under the cool water before pressing it to her face. Some of her makeup runs, but there's worse things for her to worry about. She stares into her reflection as if searching for something inside herself.</p>
<p>"...I hope he doesn't catch him,"</p>
<hr/>
<p>"...I hope he doesn't catch him, either," Earth says aloud, despite that France can't hear them and nobody is around to listen. They look down at their notes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Deficit Revolution (Universe 195304700)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Status: Ongoing</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Event(s) changed: American Revolution</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Reason(s) for creation: ______</em>
</p>
<p>Earth stares down at the blank beside "Reason(s) for creation", pen in hand. They shut their eyes for a moment, thinking hard but to no avail. They let out a long sigh before shrugging and quickly scrawling down an answer.</p>
<p>
  <em>Reason for creation: Curiosity</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Impetum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>third reich does no no to poland</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: nazi stuff, mentions of rape and murder (nothing too graphic, but proceed with caution if you're sensitive to those things)</p><p>This is one of the alternate universes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"One day, you will have to answer to a god who is not as forgiving as I am,"</em>
</p><p>It was true. Soviet was right.</p><p>Reich was dead, no surprise. A bullet through the roof of the mouth and into the brain would kill anybody.</p><p>Reich slowly stirred awake. He felt weightless, almost as if he were floating. His fingers reached out to grab something, like the floor of his bunker or a hospital bed or even the wood of his coffin, but they slid through air. The German man opened his eyes, bewildered.</p><p>This wasn't his bunker. This wasn't like any place he had been before. Was he in Heaven? That was impossible. But this didn't look like Hell. Was this even an afterlife?</p><p>"Third Reich,"</p><p>Reich jerked up upon hearing his name. He scrambled to get to his feet, only to topple over, as he was unable to stand on air. He swiveled his head around wildly, searching for the source of the voice.</p><p>"H-Hallo?" He said, his voice wavering.</p><p>A round, almost spherical head came into view. Huge, white eyes opened and almost blinded Reich with the light emanating from them. Reich didn't recognize this person's flag— Blue, almost everywhere with splotches of green and white. The giant's face looked like the map in his bunker.</p><p>Reich stared up at the unfamiliar being in fear. "Are you... Are you God?"</p><p>The voice that called his name earlier let out a soft chuckle.</p><p>"No, but you're not far from the truth,"</p><p>Reich couldn't tell if this being was a man or a woman. It was almost androgynous-like, yet somehow completely genderless at the same time. He shivered, suddenly realizing how cold the void was. "Where am I? Who are you?"</p><p>The being shook its head. It smiled warmly. "You're in space... Sort of. A different one. You wouldn't understand. I'm your creator, Earth,"</p><p>Reich's eyes widened. "You made me?"</p><p>"Yes," It nodded. Its warm smile suddenly turned into a frown, its lips curling downward bitterly. "And I'm disappointed in you,"</p><p>Reich blinked, puzzled. He thought about his life. Although it was all a blur and his memory was fuzzy, he felt as if he had done his best to do what he was destined to do: Cleanse the world and rule everything. He did fail, but wouldn't his creator be more forgiving?</p><p>"Have you forgotten?" Earth sighed. "You're responsible for the deaths of 80 million humans worldwide. You yourself killed 12 million, and 6 million were minorities. You endangered the lives of your fellow countries, the lives of my children,"</p><p>"That's what I was supposed to do, right? What's wrong?" Reich furrowed his brows. He rubbed his aching temples. "I did what was right..."</p><p>Earth shook their head. "You're clearly mistaken. Let's take a look at the world, shall we?"</p><p>Earth scooped up the small country in their hand, carrying him closer to their face. Their head suddenly spun wildly and zoomed in on a piece of land. Reich recognized it as the territory belonging to France.</p><p>"Do you remember what you did to France?"</p><p>Reich nodded, climbing to his feet shakily. He reached a hand out to the globe, peering as he tried to get a closer look. He watched with wide eyes, his mouth hung open.</p><p>"Her economy is almost nonexistent. Her people, humans who survived the horrors of war, are starving because there is little food and the crops have been burned down. The buildings are practically rubble," Earth swallowed a lump in their throat, clearly shaken. "France, herself, is in horrible shape. She's been hospitalized and she's expected to recover in several months, but it'll take longer for her to restore her mental health. UK stays by her bedside nearly all day, every day, for fear of losing his wife. UK is injured as well, but not nearly as horribly as the others you wrought agony on,"</p><p>Reich continued to blankly stare at the map as Earth shifted it to Poland.</p><p>"Poland is lucky to have survived what you did to him. He's in a coma. The Soviet Union has custody of him, which Poland never agreed to. He's almost an adult, though, so it won't be this way for long, however he will forever bear the scars you inflicted on him,"</p><p>Earth continued on, zooming in on other countries.</p><p>"Japanese Empire and Fascist Italy are dead. If they hadn't died in the war, you would've killed them yourself once you conquered most of Europe... You were going to betray your only friends,"</p><p>It was true. Reich planned to take down the Japanese Empire and Fascist Italy once he acquired more land and power. He gulped audibly.</p><p>"You captured, killed and tortured many others. Including your own brother, Weimar Republic," Earth narrowed their eyes at Reich. "It's been a while since you've heard that name, right? If you hadn't killed him, he would've passed in his sleep years later. You took away his peaceful death and murdered him because of your selfishness,"</p><p>Reich slowly backed away and down Earth's hand, cowering with shame. "Is my son okay? Please, tell me they haven't hurt him!"</p><p>Earth grimaced. "Germany is fine. He lives with the Soviet Union's children now and occasionally goes to live in Britain's household. He doesn't know what happened to you. He thinks you're hiding somewhere else, but he'll soon learn of all the filthy and cruel things you did," They shifted their gaze to Reich, who was almost touching the map. His cheeks were stained with his worried tears.</p><p>"How is mein Liebeling?"</p><p>"...Soviet? He's the one who found your body. He sees your corpse in his nightmares. The other countries are now aware that you two had a romantic relationship and Soviet has to put up with the looks of pity at world meetings. Deep down inside, he misses you. The old you, of course. The Third Reich who didn't try to kill him and threaten to murder his kids,"</p><p>Third stared down at his feet with guilt. He lifted his head, staring up at Earth with wet eyes. He sniffled. "Can I fix it?"</p><p>"If I send you back now, they'll kill you immediately," Earth shook their head.</p><p>Reich fell to his knees, clasping his hands together as he begged. "Please! I want another chance! Let me make things right!"</p><p>Earth paused, deep in thought. They cleared their throat. "You're lucky I'm even considering this. I could send you to a different timeline, where instead of you wreaking havoc in World War Two, you're the one bearing the pain. But that wouldn't help anybody. All countries are victims in war, at least in varying degrees,"</p><p>Reich stayed silent.</p><p>"...I'll send you to another timeline. It'll be exactly like your old one, but now that you know what you do now, you'll have the opportunity to make things right. If you screw it up, I cannot give you another chance,"</p><p>The German wheezed, his body shaking with his cries. He beamed at the planet. "Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret this, I promise!"</p><p>And thus, Reichtangle was born.</p><hr/><p>Poland, young and not yet a country, hated parties. They were too crowded and loud.</p><p>The Polish teenager scurried away from the crowd dancing and partying in the large living room and took cover in the empty kitchen. Having escaped the ruckus, he sighed in relief and propped himself up against the counter. He tilted his head up at the ceiling with closed eyes.</p><p>"You don't like parties, either?"</p><p>Poland's eyes flew open to see a very tall man propped up against the counter beside him. He had to be a few years older than Poland. His eyes were little white beads and his mouth wasn't visible. His head was a long, striped rectangle.</p><p>Poland shook his head. "It's too loud out there,"</p><p>"Ja. It gives me a headache," The stranger said. He turned to face the Pole. "Can I get you something to drink?"</p><p>Poland smiled. "Just a glass of water would be fine, thank you,"</p><p>"No alcohol?"</p><p>"I'm seventeen," Poland blinked.</p><p>The man laughed. He hurried to fill a cup with water from a pitcher. "You look a few years older than that. Are you sure? It's not illegal if nobody knows,"</p><p>Poland took the glass carefully. He smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks,"</p><p>"What's your name?" The country leaned against the counter again.</p><p>"Poland,"</p><p>"You're very cute, Poland,"</p><p>Poland nearly did a spit take. Some water dribbled down his chin and he wiped it off with his sleeve. "Like I said, I'm only seventeen. I'm pretty sure you're almost thirty,"</p><p>The man pouted. "Aw, liebeling. Age is just a number,"</p><p>"Jail is just a place,"</p><p>He squinted. "There's no need to be like that..."</p><p>Poland decided to change the subject. "What's your name?"</p><p>"Reichtangle..." The other said. He winked. "Just call me Reich,"</p><p>"...Reich," Admittedly, Poland liked the way it rolled off his tongue. His expression returned to a smile.</p><p>Reichtangle returned the expression, taking a sip from his own drink. The smell of alcohol wafted from the German's glass to Poland's nostrils, making Poland scrunch his nose up.</p><p>"Well, aren't you going to return the favor?"</p><p>The question caught Poland off guard. "What... What do you mean?" He asked.</p><p>Reichtangle clicked his tongue patronizingly. He set down his glass of whatever he was drinking. "I got you your water, so you should do something for me in return,"</p><p>"I..." Poland's gaze flickered between his cup of water and Reichtangle's condescending glare. "What do you want me to do?"</p><p>"Come here,"</p><p>Poland shuffled forward, stepping slightly closer to Reichtangle. He half-expected what was coming, but he didn't think Reichtangle would actually—</p><p>"Hey!" Poland yelped. "Let go of me!"</p><p>Reichtangle growled, his grip on Poland's wrists tightening. Poland's glass of water fell from his hold and hit the ground, sending water and little shards of glass all over the kitchen floor. In a flash, Poland brought his knee up to meet Reichtangle's groin.</p><p>"Du kleine Hündin!" Reichtangle shoved Poland against the counter, quickly restricting the younger's movements.</p><p>Poland squealed as his hips collided with granite. He was sure they'd be bruised tomorrow.</p><p>"Somebody help! He's—!"</p><hr/><p>"I gave you a second chance. And what did you do with it?"</p><p>"Rape and murder an innocent country,"</p><p>Earth pinched the bridge of their nose, staring down at the Third Reich, who was now back in his original form. "You were there for less than six months! Six months! And you already went back on your word!"</p><p>Third Reich shrugs.</p><p>"Do you not feel remorse?" Earth squints at the dead country.</p><p>Reich shakes his head. "I've done worse things. This is a little kitten in comparison to what I did last time,"</p><p>"Was the sobbing and begging all an act, then? Was that a ploy to trick me into giving you a second life?"</p><p>Reich nods. "Yes, it was an act,"</p><p>Earth lets out a tired sigh, staring up at the stars above for a moment before shifting their gaze back to the German. They frown in disgust.</p><p>"I would never say this to any of my countries, but I think today I can make an exception. You, Third Reich, are the perfect example of the most fucked up parts of humanity. You feel no remorse for any of the things you've done and you've proved yourself completely unworthy of redemption. You are a mistake,"</p><p>"I disagree—,"</p><p>"Did I ask?!" Earth exclaims. They shake their head, answering for Reich. "No, I didn't ask. So don't tell me what you think,"</p><p>Reich stands there, staring up at his creator, expressionless.</p><p>"...Go to the afterlife," Earth dismisses the country. "It's three doors down, to the right. You can't miss it. Tell the receptionist I sent you so she doesn't shoot you immediately. We'll talk about all this later,"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. This Message Will Repeat Until There Are None Left To Hear It (Third Reich)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>britain, the soviet union and america are given to order to go fetch reich's corpse. they find something.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Jesus fucking Christ..."</p><p>"America, not appropriate," Britian shoots his son a look, who's peering inside the dark room.</p><p>America shuts the door, preventing any more of the metallic scent inside the room from entering the rest of the bunker.</p><p>"That's a lot of blood for such a little man..." America says, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his (nonexistent) nose, revealing his wide eyes full of an emotion Britain has never seen America express.</p><p>Britain heaves a sigh and thumps the back of his head against the concrete wall as he leans back. "...Can you go check on USSR?"</p><p>"You do it. I don't give a crap about that commie,"</p><p>The Brit gives America another look. "I think that's considered a slur, America. Fine, I'll go check on him myself,"</p><p>Like Britain figures, the Russian is still losing his lunch in the bushes by the entrance.</p><p>"You alright there?" Britain asks from a couple feet away. He stands back to avoid smelling Soviet's sickness.</p><p>Soviet spits again before wiping his mouth on the end of his sleeve. His one eye is puffy and red from what Britain hopes isn't crying.</p><p>"...I can't go in there again,"</p><p>Britain steps forward, which his nostrils immediately regret. He fights the urge to gag. "Ca... Can you get his son out from there, then?"</p><p>Soviet answers by turning back around and puking again.</p><p>Britain trudges back inside the bunker, the thirty hours he's spent without sleep finally adding weight to his eyelids. Luckily, the gut-wrenching stench of death and blood is enough to keep him awake.</p><p>"I'm not going in there to fetch his body. The walls are painted with his blood," America steps away from the room.</p><p>"Sorry, but we're the only ones availableto do the job. Get in there," Britain swings open the heavy iron door, grunting with the effort. He makes sure America is following him inside.</p><p>America was right. The walls and the floor are crimson red. Blood is streaked across the once stone gray ground, likely staining both of the countries' shoes as they walk on it.</p><p>The next thing Britain can react to is the smell: iron and meat.</p><p>America immediately leans over to the small trashcan beside the Third Reich's desk and vomits. The sight combined with the stench makes Britain tempted to do the same, but they have a job to do.</p><p>"Okay, first..." Britain gulps, only to swallow metallic-tasting air and strongly dislike it. "We need to find the body. USSR said it was on the far side of the room, beside one of the tables,"</p><p>"Roger that," America replies, stepping over a particularly large puddle of blood to traverse to the other side of the big room.</p><p>Britain begins looking through the first desk closest to the door they came through, searching for nothing in particular and just procrastinating on dragging the dead Nazi out of the bunker. He dares to peek into the trashcan America puked into. There's a wadded up sheet of paper inside. Thankfully, it isn't covered in America's stomach-sauce so he grabs it. He unfolds it carefully and is relieved to find it's written in English.</p><p>
  <em>I am taking yet another life this evening.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I suppose the correct way to say that would be "lives", as it is plural, but I digress. That isn't the important part of this entry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You see, this will be my final entry in this journal of mine. Fate has given me the middle finger and unfortunately, my allies are no longer on my side. Fascist Italy has been killed and replaced by his son, Italy, who refused to take sides with me and is working with the countries who oppose me. Japanese Empire has taken quite the beating and I'm not sure if she can hold a gun anymore. I fear her time is up. But Japanese Empire isn't the only one nearing death, for I am, too. I'm not mortally wounded like she is, but nevertheless, I'm a dead man.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I've put together a recording of instructions for my men. When I hit the play button, it will sound throughout the entire bunker my few men and I are hidden in. I can't remember quite how it goes, but it's something along the lines of—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"The Red Army has found our location. They will likely invade soon and if you do not want to be face the Soviet wrath, I suggest you off yourself as soon as possible. This message will repeat until there are none left to hear it."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I snuck temazepam in Deutschland's dinner so he won't wake up from all the gunshots. He should awaken just fine tomorrow morning, but I have no idea what the Red Army will do with him. I pray they have mercy on my son.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As for myself, I have loaded my Walther PPK. It is seated beside me at this very moment. I hope it doesn't hurt for long.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ich bedauere nichts.</em>
</p><p>Britain squints over the supposed journal entry for a moment, unsure of how to feel. His eyes flicker over the last sentence, which is written in German and followed by the Third Reich's neat signature.</p><p>"Hey, America? You speak a little bit of German, correct?"</p><p>America looks up from the drawer he's rummaging through. He's also procrastinating, Britain realizes.</p><p>"Urhm... I know a handful of vocabulary. Why?"</p><p>Britain shifts his monocle, staring at the German as he tries to figure out the pronunciation. "Any idea what 'Ich bedauere nichts' means?"</p><p>America shakes his head. "Not at all. And what is that, anyway?"</p><p>"I... I think it's his most recent journal entry," Britain steps over to hand it to his son. "At first I thought it was a suicide note,"</p><p>"I mean... Technically, it is a suicide note by the looks of it," The American says, skimming over the writing. He sets it on a table close by. "Let's stop screwing around and get his body outta here. This place is disgusting,"</p><p>"...Agreed,"</p><p>Together, they locate Third Reich's body exactly where Soviet told them. They bicker for a few moments over how to carry his corpse before America has enough and slings the German over his shoulders, carrying him in a fireman's carry. Blood gets all over the western country, but he only complains a little.</p><p>America walks ahead of Britain, eager to chuck the corpse away. Britain lingers in the room for a moment, staring at the note he found. For some reason, he's compelled to take it.</p><p>Britain quickly stuffs the note in his pocket when America calls for him.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. The Collapse of Communism (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>soviet fucking dies</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>December 26, 1991</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia pads up the stairs, his boots tapping against the old wood as he goes to deliver his father's breakfast. For the past few days, Soviet had eaten very little. No matter how much he insisted he eat, the stubborn Slav would shake his head and complain of a stomachache, refusing to even take a few bites.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Soviet's body was falling apart, his body systems included. His breaths were quick and shallow, as his lungs were unable to function properly. He couldn't keep the little bit of food he ate down. His responses and reactions grew more and more delayed, to the point where he often had to pause for several seconds before replying to others during conversation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia, Ukraine and Belarus were the only countries in the house, not including Soviet. Kazakhstan left to update the remaining siblings on Soviet's health. Russia didn't see why Kazakhstan even bothered. Most of the others didn't care their father was bedridden.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia continues down the hall before taking a left. He approaches his father's bedroom door and rests the tray of food on his palm as he raises his other fist to knock on the wood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Папа! Это я!" Russia calls. He knocks again upon not receiving a reply.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Dad! It's me!)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nothing but silence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That was odd. Soviet wasn't always quick to answer, but he was usually awake around this time. Russia rests his hand on the knob, careful to balance the small tray of food so it wouldn't topple over. He pushes the door open.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia screams, the tray clattering to the floor as he brings his hands to his face. He barrels out of the bedroom and rushes down the hall towards Belarus' door. His fist pounds on the wood frantically.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Belarus! Belarus! Come out, now!" Russia cries, practically slamming his body against the door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Belarus swings the door open, a concerned look on her face. "Что?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia practically drags Belarus down the hall by his hand, ignoring her pleads for an explanation. Belarus stumbles into their father's room as her brother shoves her inside. Russia grabs her face, roughly jerking it to the side so she faces Soviet's bed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead of a corpse, there sits a pile of red dust beside a dark brown ushanka.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Belarus' eyes widen. Russia rushes to his father's bedside, gripping the sheets his father once laid on. He runs his fingers through the dust, all that remained of Soviet's, before turning away and hurrying into the bathroom. Seconds later, Belarus could hear Russia collapse against the bathroom door, followed by quiet sobbing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Belarus's attention shifts back to herself when she feels an itch on her face. She furrows her eyebrows, reaching a hand up to scratch at her forehead and suddenly reminded of the skin cracking and peeling on her now deceased father's face. She gasps before taking off down the hall after her brother.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Russia is curled up on the bathroom floor when Belarus kicks open the door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Russia, is your skin peeling?"</em>
</p><hr/><p>Russia jumps out of his skin, chucking his razor across the room and throwing his bedsheets over his body. He yanks the white blanket up to his chin before shutting his eyes like he's asleep.</p><p>"Russia! Это я, Беларусь!"</p><p>
  <em>(It's me, Belarus!)</em>
</p><p>The door creaks open to reveal Russia's younger sister, Belarus. She's holding a plate with a couple cookies on it.</p><p>"Are you okay? You haven't left your room all day..." She enters the room and sets the plate on Russia's nightstand before turning to face her brother, who's still hiding under the sheets.</p><p>"I'm good. Всё отлично," Russia quickly says.</p><p>
  <em>(Everything is perfect.)</em>
</p><p>"Are you sure?" Belarus sits on the edge of the bed, beside Russia's hidden feet. "Is it cold in here? You're buried under the covers,"</p><p>Russia shakes his head. "No, no! It's all good. I'm just tired. I was getting ready to take a nap,"</p><p>Belarus give him a look, but doesn't press further. She sighs and claps her hands together. "Well, I brought you some cookies since you haven't eaten anything yet today. We can't have you going hungry,"</p><p>"Yeah," Russia shifts under the covers. He tries to give Belarus a smile. "Thanks,"</p><p>Belarus says nothing, just sitting there for a moment.</p><p>"Are you sure you're okay?" She finally says.</p><p>The younger country tries to lock eyes with her brother, but Russia refuses to make eye contact with her.</p><p>"I know Christmas is coming up. And I know that means the twenty-sixth is right around the corner—,"</p><p>"I don't wanna talk about it,"</p><p>Belarus frowns at the hostility in Russia's voice. He shoots her an angry glare, but she can tell he's not angry.</p><p>"It's hard. I get it. But—,"</p><p>Russia flips her the bird, turning over in bed and tugging the sheets over his head. As he gives her the meanie finger, his red-stained arm is visible for a brief moment.</p><p>"Russia!" Belarus gasps. She rushes to pull the sheets off her brother. "You've been cutting again?"</p><p>Russia sits upright with a sigh, the fitted sheet below him decorated with splotches of dark crimson where his arms rested seconds ago. Belarus gently takes Russia's arm and looks it over. The marks aren't deep, but they're gushing with blood. She hurries to the bathroom and returns with a damp cloth, ointment and bandages.</p><p>"Беларусь, нет. I'm fine,"</p><p>
  <em>(Belarus, no.)</em>
</p><p>Belarus ignores him, instead cleaning the cuts carefully with the cloth. The cloth is soon stained red with Russia's blood. Belarus sets the cloth on the nightstand, dirty side up. She gently applies the ointment, careful to not irritate the slices in Russia's skin. After covering the cuts with a liberal amount of ointment, she wraps his forearm in bandages.</p><p>"Seriously, you didn't have to. I can take care of myself," Russia continues to protest, clutching his now-bandaged arm to his chest.</p><p>"I'm your sister. It's my job,"</p><p>Russia says nothing, only staring down at the mattress blankly.</p><p>"Are you okay?" Belarus asks again. She gives him a worried look.</p><p>Russia shakes his head. "Я скучаю по нему,"</p><p>(<em>I miss him.)</em></p><p>Belarus immediately engulfs Russia in a warm hug. Russia stiffens at the gesture, but eventually reluctantly wraps his arms around her.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Deficit Revolution: 2 Electric Boogaloo (france gets beaten)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: domestic violence, mentions of past rape/non-con</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Don't touch them! Don't touch them!" France begs, grabbing onto her husband's arm to keep him from turning down the hall leading to the kid's rooms. "Please! I'll do anything!"</p><p>"Let me go, you twat!" Britain rips her hand away from him. His knuckles turn white from how tightly he clenches his fists.</p><p>"I won't let you hurt my children!" France barrels down the hallway and gets ahead of the violent Brit. She blocks the doorway belonging to the room Canada and America are sleeping in. Australia and New Zealand's shared room has been empty for months, since France snuck the two out of the house to go live with their biological father.</p><p>"They're my children, too. I'll do whatever I want to them,"</p><p>"No!" France wails. Tears flow down her red cheeks, streaks of mascara and smeared lipstick further adding to her already colorful face— which is blotched with sickly shades of purple, yellow and green from recent altercations with the man in front of her. She raises an extended index finger. "You are <em>not </em>going to lay a finger on my children! You can beat me, rape me, threaten to kill me, but you cannot— I repeat, <em>cannot!— </em>touch my babies!"</p><p>"Move," Britain seethes, grabbing France's shoulder. His fingers dig into her delicate skin, leaving a hand-shaped mark France knows no amount of concealer will hide.</p><p>France shakes her head vigorously, hot tears continuing to pour out her wide eyes. Before she can protest again, she's flung into the wall opposite the entrance to Canada and America's room. The drywall cracks under the force of her landing and sends white powdery dust all over the carpet, as well as chunks of the sheetrock. She hacks and coughs violently.</p><p>"Don't fucking touch them!" She manages to cry out between wheezes.</p><p>Britain swings open the door, ignoring the woman's pleas. The doorknob leaves an indent in the wall like France did in the hallway, but on a much smaller scale. France fears the door might fly off its hinges from the effort put into throwing it open.</p><p>"Hrm? Papa?" Canada's high-pitched voice sounds from under the covers on the bottom bunk of the bunkbed. He peaks out from his blanket groggily. "Hrmgghh...?"</p><p>America jolts upright upon seeing his angry father storm into the room. He's quick to react, grabbing Canada by his arms and yanking him up onto the top bunk. The American groans as he hoists his younger brother up.</p><p>"Stand back! Don't come near us!" America shouts, wrapping his arms around Canada protectively. His voice cracks mid-sentence and he begins to shake wildly. "Stay away!"</p><p>Canada whimpers, his gaze flickering over to their mother, who's getting to her feet in the hallway. She holds onto the wall for a moment, struggling to reorient herself.</p><p>"Mama!"</p><p>France looks up at her children, her expression a mixture of terror and devotion. Her beaten frame slumps over as she limps into the bedroom.</p><p>"Don't touch them... Please..." She begs Britain, her fingers interlocked in a begging gesture. "I'll do anything... Anything!"</p><p>Britain continues to ignore his wife, instead stomping to the ladder leading up to the bunk Canada and America are cowering on. He grabs at Canada's ankle.</p><p>"Get down here!"</p><p>Canada shrieks and shakes his head, pulling away from his father. He scoots back towards the wall the bed is pressed against, leaving America vulnerable. Britain is quick to grab his other son by the leg and drag him down.</p><p>America lets out a scream, grabbing at the bedsheets and the railing as he flails around in Britain's grasp. He kicks and swings his fists, but to no avail. His father holds him close.</p><p>"You're a fucking disappointment to this family, you know? You made me like this. You've hurt Mum," Britain hisses, his face much too close to America's own. "You should be ashamed,"</p><p>America sobs and beats his fists against Britain's chest, shaking his head frantically. "Let me go! Let me go!"</p><p>"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" The Brit slams America into the wall, knocking his son's head against the shelf in the process. America wails.</p><p>France darts into the bedroom and immediately latches onto her husband. "Let him go! Let my boy go!"</p><p>Britain is quick to throw her off. She lands on the floor in a heap with a pained groan. Canada gasps and scrambles down the ladder to rush to his mother's side.</p><p>"Mama! Mama!" Canada cries. His eyes are puffy and red from sobbing. "Mama!"</p><p>France weakly takes Canada's hand and lowers her voice to a whisper. "<em>There's a telephone booth down the block. I need you to run as fast as you can and call 911. Please, my son," </em>she says in French.</p><p>Canada swallows a pitiful sob and nods. He bites his lip. "D'accord, Maman,"</p><p>With that, the Canadian boy darts out the bedroom and hurries out the house, headed for the phone booth. France shuts her eyes and succumbs to her exhaustion, eventually going out cold while America continues to scream in Britain's clutches.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. My Papa Says (Estonia x Finland)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>sad moment between estonia and finland</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Estonia rolls a pebble between her thumb and forefinger, staring down at it blankly. Her thin eyebrows furrow as she loses herself in her thoughts.</p><p>
  <em>"I don't want you hanging out with that Nordic boy! How many times do I have to tell you: he isn't who he says he is!" Soviet shouts at his daughter through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to keep you safe!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Estonia angrily raises her hands up in front of herself in defense. "I don't care what you think of him! You've never seen him the way I do!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Эстония," The Russian growls. He steps forward. "Дай мне ключи от машины,"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Estonia. Give me your car keys.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Estonia shakes her head vigorously, pulling her keys from Finland's jacket pocket and clutching them to her chest. "You can't tell me who to love, Papа,"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I can," Soviet hisses.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her father lunges forward and grabs Estonia's wrist. Estonia lets out a cry in surprise as he rips the keys from her grasp. The metal of her house key grazes the delicate skin of her hand and tears through it, earning another yelp from the girl.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Papа! Give that back!" Estonia cries, pressing her hurt hand into the fabric of her pants to stop the bleeding.</em>
</p><p>"...And then Sweden— Hej, are you listening?"</p><p>Estonia drops the tiny rock, her attention quickly averting back to the Finnish boy. The pebble falls into the snow with a faint crunch. She blinks away her thoughts, as if to dismiss them. "I'm sorry. I zoned out,"</p><p>Finland, who was chucking rocks into the holes in the ice blanketing the large pond a few yards from where they both stand bends down to pick up a chunk of ice. He turns to face Estonia.</p><p>"It's about your father, isn't it?"</p><p>Estonia looks down at the white snow beneath her boots. She suddenly feels a weight tugging on her chest. "He doesn't want me seeing you any longer. I tried to keep it secret, but Russia tells him everything..."</p><p>"I know," Finland huffs, chucking the chunk of ice. It skids across the surface of the icy pond before finally breaching it with a splash. It bobs up and down in the freezing water. "He's always hated me,"</p><p>"I don't see why! Sure, you're stoic and kinda cold, but when it's just us, you couldn't be sweeter..." Estonia sighs. She idly picks up a fallen leaf and crunches it in her hand. The brownish-orange pieces of leaf fall out her palm and into the soft, wet snow below.</p><p>"It's because we went to war back in the thirties," Finland says through gritted teeth. "Your dad's a fucking prick..."</p><p>"He's still my father! And I won't let you talk about him like that," The Estonian girl looks up at him with a frown. Finland gives her an apologetic look before tossing another rock into the pond.</p><p>"I'm sorry... I'm just angry at him for micromanaging you like this," Finland sits down in the snow beside her. He takes her hand in his own and plants a gentle kiss to the deep scratch by her thumb. "Did he do this?"</p><p>"He took my keys," Estonia answers. Finland, although still curious, doesn't press further. The two countries sit in silence together, watching the snow fall onto the landscape before them.</p><p>"...I think he might be right," Finland suddenly says.</p><p>Estonia jerks her head up to face the taller country. She raises a brow, puzzled. "What?"</p><p>Finland's shoulders rise as he inhales, then sink again as he lets out a pained sigh. He squeezes her hand tightly almost as if he fears she'll retract from his hold. "About me. Not being good for you,"</p><p>"Are you out of your mind?!" Estonia gasps. She leans forward and sets her free hand on his shoulder. "Of course he's wrong! He doesn't know who you really are!"</p><p>Finland blinks and looks away. "Maybe we aren't meant to be together after all..."</p><p>"That's not true! You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Estonia moves her hand from Finland's shoulder and instead uses it to grab his chin and make him look at her. Tears well in her eyes. "You're my favorite person, Soome. I need you,"</p><p>The Finnish boy watches her movement through wet eyes. Estonia cups his cheek, gently caressing his face with gentle strokes of her thumb.</p><p>"You've helped me earn my freedom. Do you have any idea how much that means to me?" Estonia continues. "I may not be out of the house quite yet, but you've helped me make that first step towards independence. I can't even begin to thank you enough for that!"</p><p>Finland says nothing.</p><p>"And you contribute military aid to my forces! All the equipment and officers' training you've given my people makes my success possible, Soome," Estonia's voice cracks, raising a few octaves as she struggles to speak through oncoming tears. "And... And..."</p><p>Finland raises a finger to her lips, shushing her. She stops speaking and looks up at him with puffy, red eyes. The Finn smiles at her weakly before pecking her on the forehead. He holds her close.</p><p>"I love you, Esti. I don't want us to end, either, but I don't know how much longer we can keep this up,"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Deficit Revolution 3 (britain does no no to america)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: domestic vioelnce, rape/non-con</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Never had France seen America so vulnerable.</p><p>The young boy sits in the tub, his knees tucked into his chest and his arms wrapped around himself in an upright fetal position as he shivers in the cold, soapy water. He stares down at the murky water with a thousand-yard stare France has only seen on humans who have seen the horrors of war. France wrings out the dirty washcloth, the bathwater dripping back into the tub.</p><p>"I'm so very sorry, Amerique... I'm sorry he touched you like that,"</p><p>America continues to tremble weakly. His eyes are puffy and red from crying so heavily minutes prior. His skin reminds France of her own— splotchy with angry bruises and contusions all over. America's knobby knees are carpetburnt, the irritated skin peeling away at the broken edges to reveal a pinker, much more sensitive and even painful layer of tissue below. As France begins to scrub the boy's back, she dares to glance over his abdomen. The sight is revolting. France wouldn't call the small, circular bites across America's ribcage lovebites; for there was nothing about them that correlated with love.</p><p>"I'm sorry I didn't fight back..." America sniffles, his voice cracking pitifully. "I didn't know what to do..."</p><p>France wraps her arms around her son, ignoring the front of her dress getting soaked as she engulfs him in a loving embrace. "No, no, no! You have nothing to apologize for!"</p><p>America, unable to form fully coherent sentences through his fragile state, just nods along.</p><p>"Do you think you can get up?" France gently squeezes his hand.</p><p>America retracts from the hug and instead places his hands on the edge of the tub to steady himself as he shakily gets to his feet. He immediately latches onto his mother again.</p><p>"I don't want to! I don't want to get out!" He cries. His fingers curl into the fabric of France's dress. France holds him tightly, letting him rest his weight on her. She rubs soothing circles into his back.</p><p>"Shhh... You're safe now. He's in the study, not anywhere near your room,"</p><p>America whimpers, clinging onto France tightly. "Don't... Don't make me..."</p><p>"Okay, okay," France pats his head gently. She bends down to assist him back into the water. "I'm going to confront him about this, alright? I'll make sure that bastard never touches you again,"</p><p>America slips back into the tub with a nod. France presses a kiss to the boy's forehead and exits the bathroom quietly, marching towards the study to confront Britain. She raises her fist to the door and knocks gently on the hard wood, the three hollow knocks sounding throughout the hall and into the study. A voice calls from inside.</p><p>"Come in, darling!"</p><p>France's fingers curl around the shiny knob as she gives it a turn to the right. It clicks softly, notifying the Brit of her entering. The door creaks as she swings it open.</p><p>"Dear, would you mind telling me what happened to America?" She asks as soon as she enters the room.</p><p>Britain, who was facing the window across from his desk, drops his pen and turns to face his wife. "Whatever do you mean by that?"</p><p>"You know exactly what I mean, asswipe," France quickly spits at him before continuing in the most calm and contained voice she can muster. "...That is not how a father should touch his son,"</p><p>"I'll touch him however I want," Britain puts simply before turning back around to continue whatever he was working on prior. France stops him by clamping a hand down on his shoulder.</p><p>"I want a divorce,"</p><p>Britain swallows audibly, setting down his pen again as he gets up. He stands in front of the woman and cups her cheek in his hand. France flinches.</p><p>"But dear, why?" He asks her.</p><p>France's fingers gently pry Britain's hand off her face. "I don't appreciate the way you treat me and the children! I want to keep the kids safe and raise them in a loving environment, but that's near impossible when you behave the way you've been behaving,"</p><p>Britain eyebrows furrow. His thin lips curl into a displeased frown. "<em>Francia..."</em></p><p>France winces upon the mention of her husband's nickname for her. "No. Don't call me that,"</p><p>Britain steps away a few paces, clicking his tongue patronizingly. He shakes his head. "I don't think we should divorce. I love you,"</p><p>"I don't think you do," France crosses her arms.</p><p>"Whatever do you mean, <em>Francia?" </em>The Brit tilts his head. He takes France's hand in his own.</p><p>France pulls her hand from his grasp, her expression contorted into one of extreme disgust. "I said not to call me that! And you know what I mean!"</p><p>"Don't raise your voice at me, young lady!"</p><p>France scowls. "You don't own me, Britain. I'm your wife, not your car,"</p><p>Britain crosses his arms across his chest with a huff. "Have you made dinner yet?"</p><p>"Don't change the subject!" France tilts her head angrily. "I'm trying to confront you about raping our son and all you care about is dinner? Seriously?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"</p><p>The Brit's shoulders bounce with a shrug. "I just want to know. I'm hungry,"</p><p>France swallows a lump forming in her throat. A pressure begins to build in her chest, near her sternum. She blinks away a wetness in her eyes. "I can't do this anymore, Britain. I can't take it,"</p><p>"France—"</p><p>"I'm leaving to my brother's house. And I'm taking the kids with me," France gives him one last look before spinning on her heel and heading back towards the door she came in through.</p><p>"No, you're not!"</p><p>Britain snatches her by her waist and pulls her back. He holds her close, effectively restricting her movement. France lets out a surprised scream, to which Britain responds to by bringing a hand around her throat and squeezing as tight as his fingers will allow.</p><p>"B-Brit...! Ainnnnnghhhh!" France wheezes out, her windpipe rubbing against the palm of Britain hand as she tries to speak. She thrashes against him, her legs kicking at his shins and her arms swinging about wildly.</p><p>"You're not going anywhere, you hear me?!" Britain snarls into her ear, his grip around her throat and waist tightening even further. "You fucking cunt!"</p><p>With that, he throws the fragile woman onto the ground. France lands in a heap on the floor with a thud. A few lonely tears leak from her eyes and drip down her face, trickling onto the carpet. Britain makes a retching sound as he spits on her before walking out the study. The door shuts behind him and locks with a faint click.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. mORe alternate universes (and even more terrible latin!!)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>these provide so many different ways to look at characters and i am LIVING for it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Britannia Hortus</em>
</p><p><em>-</em>France gets fed up with Britain's abuse and murders him one night. She buries him in their garden.</p><p>-Basically Deficit Revolution, but with a different ending.</p><p>-This universe ends in 1897</p><p>Reason for ending: Earth didn't want America and Canada to grow up knowing their father was a wife beater and their mother was a murderer.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Irremissibile</em>
</p><p>-Poland never loves Germany.</p><p>-Germany is alone.</p><p>-Germany has no one.</p><p>-This universe is ongoing.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Placere Expergisci</em>
</p><p>-Poland goes into a coma after WW2. Basically a metaphor (sort of??) for Poland while it was a Soviet territory: virtually non-existent.</p><p>He's yet to have woken up.</p><p>-Germany sits by his bedside until he's forced to go home, only to return as soon as visiting hours come again.</p><p>-This universe is ongoing.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Epulas Fratri Suo</em>
</p><p>-Ireland eats his fucking brother.</p><p>-Im not kidding. He eats Northern Ireland.</p><p>-what the fuck</p><p>Reason for ending: Earth doesn't think cannibalism is very epic</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Mater Lingua</em>
</p><p>-Countries can only speak in their native languages. For example, France can only speak French and Russia can only speak Russian. However, that doesn't mean they can't <em>understand </em>other languages, so communication isn't entirely impossible.</p><p>-This universe is ongoing</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Vacce</em>
</p><p>-Everybody is a cow.</p><p>-This universe is ongoing.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Redeuntem</em>
</p><p>-The universe in which my other story, Redeuntem, takes place. Redeuntem is almost the same as Rem, but with a few differences. (Rem is the universe closest to our reality)</p><p>-I can't say much, because it will spoil the story, but I can say a few things:</p><p>•Two countries die and must work together to return from the afterlife. However, one of them died for a reason and doesn't want to go back.</p><p>•America learns a valuable lesson.</p><p>•USSR realizes not everybody deserves forgiveness.</p><p>
  <b>Hahahaha bet you can't guess which two countries die</b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. unfinished shit :))</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a ~wonderful~ collage of things i will likely never finish but still want to post</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>TW: Domestic violence</b>
</p><p>
  <b>This is from Deficit Revolution. Edit: I finished this!! You'll see it later.</b>
</p><p>"Daddy! Daddy!" Canada and America rush into the kitchen, nearly barreling into their father. "Daddy!"</p><p>Britain looks up from the newspaper clutched in his hands. "Hm?"</p><p>"Can we go to the park?" Canada asks Britain, looking up at him with pleading eyes.</p><p>America nods along. "You promised us we'd go today!"</p><p>Britain locks eyes with France for a moment, then shakes his head. He sets the newspaper down on the table and grabs an unlit cigar. "Not today,"</p><p>"But Daddy!" The two boys whine.</p><p>"Go to your room, I need to talk with Mum for a moment," Britain hisses. He gets to his feet, which startles America and Canada. They bolt off, presumably to their shared room.</p><p>France clears her throat, earning a look from her husband. The boiling water in the pot on the stove sizzles as she stirs the spaghetti noodles. After a few seconds of silence, she speaks.</p><p>"I think I've ought to get a job," She says. "Now that Aussie and New Zealand are living with Netherlands and America and Canada are in school, there's no use in me hanging around the house all day. We could use the extra income, anyway,"</p><p>"If you want to make extra cash so badly..." Britain rummages through a drawer near where France is standing and pulls out a lighter. The small, metal wheel clicks under his thumb, spitting out a tiny flame he uses to light his cigar. "Then I suggest you go out into the city and spread your legs. That's all you're good for, anyway,"</p><p>"At least I'd get better respect out there..." France mutters under her breath. She lets out a gasp as her husband's free hand wraps around her neck and squeezes her throat tightly.</p><p>"You think some greasy old man would treat you better than your own husband?"</p><p>France drops the wooden spoon. It floats among the noodles on the surface of the water in the pot, bobbing up and down. She pries at the fingers digging into her skin. "No, please... I can't do this..."</p><p>Tears split from her eyes, threatening to breach her waterline and streak down her red cheeks. She struggles against the man pressed up against her. Eventually, she gives up on peeling Britain hand from her throat and instead grabs a ceramic bowl from the counter. She raises it and brings it down on her husband's forearm, who lets out a pained yelp and reels back.</p><p>"You fucking bitch! You'll pay for that!"</p><p>France shoves him off. He stumbles backwards into the counter parallel to the stove and hits his head on a cabinet peeking over the edge.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>I don't know what this one was supposed to be.</b>
</p><p>"I don't remember agreeing to this," America says from the backseat, peeping over Russia's shoulder.</p><p>"Where are we going?" Russia says from the passenger side.</p><p>Germany makes a turn down a winding road. Trees are scattered everywhere, preventing anyone from seeing the now distant city they were once in. "Don't worry about it! Only two things matter right now— One, I've got <em>plenty </em>of gas, so nothing can go wrong," He points to the near-empty gas meter. "Two, our destination is a little bit spooky. We need to dive deeper into how we learn fear,"</p><p>"I don't like it when you get this excited, Germany," America protests again. He gives Russia a genuinely worried look, but Russia ignores him.</p><p>"We're going to stop somewhere along the way," Germany pulls into an empty parking lot. A tall, lonely building stands fifty feet away.</p><p>The interior of the building is near empty, with the exception of a single chair in the center of the main room and a screen on the wall in front of it.</p><p>"America, get in the chair," Germany says.</p><p>America reluctantly plops into the chair, setting his arms on the armrest. Germany ties America down as Russia watches.</p><p>"What are you doing?" America says when Germany starts placing little electrodes on the bare skin of his arms and his forehead.</p><p>"You'll see," Germany sticks one where America's neck meets his collarbone.</p><p>"Seriously, though. What are you doing to him?" Russia pipes up.</p><p>Germany places the final electrode before replying. "You've probably heard exposure therapy can help people overcome their fears. The same principles can be used to create fears,"</p><p>"Nuh-uh!" America shakes his head vigorously. "You're gonna make me afraid of something stupid, like purple squares or something!"</p><p>Germany chuckles. "You're correct,"</p><p>Germany slips a pair of headphones into America's head. He turns up the volume. Then, he sticks bioelectric sensors on America's face.</p><p>"These will monitor your body's physiological reactions. For example, sweat,"</p><p>America nods. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair.</p><p>"Are you familiar with the Animaniacs?"</p><p>America nods vigorously. He beams. "Of course! That was one of my favorite cartoons!"</p><p>Germany chuckles, something sinister hiding behind his laugh. "...Italy, Turkey and Greece,"</p><hr/><p>
  <b>TW: Disordered eating</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Something about America deciding to start recovering from his eating disorder idk</b>
</p><p>"Ame?" Fingers tap against the wood of the bathroom door. "You okay in there?"</p><p>America jolts away from the toilet, slamming the lid shut and yanking his fingers out of his mouth. The ceramic lid falls onto his other hand in the process, forcing a small yelp of surprise from his lips.</p><p>"Ame!"</p><p>"I'm good!" America shouts. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before running it under the cool water in the sink. "It's all good!"</p><p>"...Can I come in?"</p><p>America frantically slaps his fingers onto the switch to flush the toilet. The bowl roars as the water swirls and washes away his dinner. He sets his hands on the counter, resting his weight on the sink and cabinets. His vision blurs and tunnels as his legs shake.</p><p>"I'm coming in, okay?"</p><p>The door swings open to reveal America's concerned brother, Canada. He rushes to Ame's side.</p><p>"Are you okay? I heard something. It sounded like you were throwing up! Are you sick? I can go get you some medicine... I'll let Dad know you're ill and can't attend the next world meeting—,"</p><p>America lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes shutting for a brief moment. They flicker open again as he speaks. "Nada, no. I'm not sick,"</p><p>Canada sets his hands on America's shoulders. His eyes widen and fill with even more worry. "Then what's wrong?"</p><p>"Nothing, I—," America stops. He looks away, contemplating his next words. "Canada, I'm gonna tell you something, but I don't want anyone else to know yet,"</p><p>"Okay?"</p><p>"I..." America bites back a cry. He blinks back tears, but they come anyway. He sobs, burying his face in Canada's chest. "I'm sorry,"</p><p>Canada wraps his arms around his brother, holding him tight. "Shh, you're okay... Just tell me what's going on. I can't help if I don't even know the problem,"</p><p>America pulls back with a sniffle. "I... I... Goddamnit!" He laughs at himself, but it's clear he doesn't think this is funny. "This is so hard. I don't know how to say this..."</p><p>"It's okay. Take all the time you need," Canada smiles. "I'm here to listen,"</p><p>America swallows audibly before starting. "I don't... I don't have a healthy relationship with food,"</p><p>Canada tilts his head, having never heard anything like this before. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"I..." The American takes a deep, shaky breath. He wrings his hands behind his back anxiously. "Do you remember when I went on a diet, about a year and a half ago?"</p><p>Canada nods.</p><p>"I did that because I wanted to be healthier. But a few weeks in, I quit following the diet. I started purging everything I ate,"</p><p>"Purging?"</p><p>"Making myself puke," America's voice cracks and he stares at the floor in shame. His eyes fill with tears again.</p><p>Canada suddenly engulfs America in another hug, shushing him before he starts sobbing.</p><p>"It evolved into eating so much, until I was unbearably full, and then puking it up again," America says. He shudders and lets out a sob. "I'm sorry I'm so disgusting!"</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yeah this was shit lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Britannia Hortus (france buries britain's dead body)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>JHFKUUYLG JK TERRIBLY TRANSLATED LATIN NAME</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: past/implied domestic violence, murder</p><p>another alternate universe!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>France dropped the shovel to wipe the beads of sweat from her brow, heaving a sigh of exhaustion. The yard around her had grown dark over an hour ago when the sun set, barely illuminated by the porch lights. France herself wasn't sure how long she had been digging for, only that she needed to dig deep enough to fully conceal the man who antagonized her and her children for years.</p><p>The French woman had read somewhere that burying bodies vertical would lessen the chance of someone discovering the body, but she wasn't sure just how true that was. Regardless, she needed any help she could get in hiding Britain's body. The last thing France ever wanted was to get caught. She would lose the kids. All this would be for nothing.</p><p>Britain didn't go down without a fight. Even after France had shot him multiple times, he continued thrashing about and screaming bloody murder. She had to sit on his chest and beat his head against the kitchen tiles until he shut up. Blood splattered up the side of the refrigerator and pooled on the ground where Britain struggled.</p><p>There was something cathartic in the violence that occurred in the kitchen those hours ago. Finally, France gave Britain a taste of what he put her and the kids through daily. Finally, France got retribution. How she wished she had done this sooner! So many years wasted, living under Britain's control. She could've freed herself and the boys years ago, had she known how simple her solution was.</p><p>France turned to Britain's body, quickly realizing after looking him over that she would need to strip him in order for him to fit in the hole she dug. With a sigh, she scooted over to her deceased husband and removed his suit. She carefully folded the clothes and set them on the ground beside the shovel, wrinkling her nose and cringing at the feeling of more wet blood coating her already filthy hands. She ran her hands over the skirt of her dress to wipe them clean.</p><p>To her relief, Britain's body fit in the hole just fine. There was even a little room left over. France swelled with a bit of pride, which she quickly shook off after remembering this was nothing to be proud of. She killed her husband. France then had to push away a twinge of guilt in her gut. Yes, she killed him, but she had a valid reason. At least, she told herself that. Maybe if she told it to herself enough it would come true.</p><p>France clambered back to her feet and picked up the heavy shovel, her shoulders and arm muscles crying in protest as she did. She scooped up a load of dirt, then chucked it unceremoniously onto Britain's corpse. She did this over and over again until the hole was no longer a hole, but a flattish bit of bare ground in the backyard. She chucked the shovel back down and slid a couple flowerpots over the grave in an attempt to make it look more natural. Deciding that it looked fine, she rushed back inside to clean up the bloody mess in the kitchen before America and Canada came home from Canada's hockey practice. She took Britain's clothes into the house with her, at first unsure of what she would do with them. Finally, she neatly packed them inside a shoebox and hid it behind a stack of towels and bedsheets in the master closet.</p><p>The kids silently crept through the front door right as France had finished dealing with the mess in the kitchen. She looked up, dropping the dirty rag she used into the sink.</p><p>"How was hockey practice, dears?"</p><p>The two teens both froze up, taken aback by France's unusually happy tone.</p><p>"Oh, he isn't home yet," America sighed in relief, rubbing his forehead with a bandaged hand. He tossed his schoolbag onto the couch before plopping beside it. Canada slipped off his shoes and curled up with one of the pillows beside his brother.</p><p>France grabbed the rag from the sink and squeezed out the remainder of blood soaked inside. "America, is your hand any better?" She asked, drying her hands.</p><p>America only shook his head. He leaned back on the couch, shutting his eyes as he let exhaustion set in.</p><p>"Maman? When is Daddy coming home?" Canada suddenly piped up.</p><p>France let a soft smile creep its way across her face. "...Not for a while, dear,"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. more unfinished shit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ruhighgfhgf</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Something I cut from The Collapse of Communism (Part Two)</b>
</p><p>The other Slav looks up from the ground, gazing at his sister with dull eyes.</p><p>Belarus steps further into the bathroom. She points to her forehead, which is red with irritation and peeling at an alarming rate.</p><p>Russia squints. He presses his fingernail into his cheek, then yanks it down. Skin flies off his cheek to reveal a dark shade of blue beneath.</p><p>"We're dying! We're dying like Папа!" Russia wails, bringing his hands to his face as if to keep his skin together.</p><p>The bathroom door swings open, slamming into the wall and leaving a dent in the drywall. Ukraine nearly barrels into Belarus as they rushed inside.</p><p>"What's all the racket about? And I think I've caught something... I've got a rash on my face and back," Ukraine gestures to the flakes of skin falling off their face and scattering on their shirt.</p><p>"Захарченко ушел, Украина. Я думаю, что мы следующие," Belarus sets her hands on Ukraine's shoulders. The Ukrainian flies into a state of panic, picking at the peeling skin and letting out wails of despair.</p><p>(He's gone, Ukraine. I think we're next)</p><p>Russia sinks to the floor shakily, unable to process his grief. He claws at his peeling face wildly, unable to bear the horrible itching. Flakes of red, light blue and yellow fall to the bathroom tile, as well as on his clothes.</p><p>Ukraine gasps, pointing at their brother.</p><p>Russia and Belarus perk up, exchanging puzzled looks. Russia clambers to his feet and turns around to face the mirror. Lo and behold, on his face is another flag hidden beneath the crusty residue from his old face. His stomach churns.</p><p>"We're not dying..." Belarus stares at Russia, suddenly aware of the situation. "Our flags are changing,"</p><p>The three simultaneously heave sighs of relief. Ukraine takes a washcloth from the cabinet and turns on the water in the bathroom sink. They wet the cloth with warm water and brought it to their face, slowly and gently removing the final pieces of their old flag. Soon, Russia and Belarus copied them.</p><p>Belarus set down her rag. "Mine doesn't look that different. I'm just missing the hammer and sickle... You two have changed so much,"</p><p>Russia continued wiping his face. He gave up with the rag and starting splashing water onto himself, rubbing his face almost violently. "...I know," He didn't say anything else for fear of breaking down in front of his siblings.</p><p>The Ukrainian said nothing, only continuing to wipe their face.</p><p>"Does... Does this mean we're countries now?" Belarus thought aloud.</p><p>"I'm not ready!" Russia sobbed, shaking his head frantically. He stopped washing his face. "I'm not ready to be an independent country! I don't want this, I don't want this!"</p><p>Belarus clamped her hands on the taller countries' shoulders, standing on her tip-toes to look him in the eye. "У нас нет выбора, Россия. Подумайте об этом так: что бы папа хотел от вас прямо сейчас? Он хотел бы, чтобы вы оснастки под давлением и плакать, или он хочет, чтобы вы стоять высокий и лицо, кто вы есть?"</p><p>(We have no choice, Russia. Think about it this way: what would Папа want from you right now? Would he want you to snap under the pressure and cry, or would he want you to stand tall and face who you are?)</p><p>Ukraine bit their bottom lip, trembling. "Let's make Папа proud,"</p><p>Russia shut his eyes, wincing with visible pain. He rubbed his head and hid his face as he walked out the bathroom to cry alone in his room.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>TW: miscarriage, </b>
  <b>
    <em>nasty</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>At the end, which I never got to, Britain feeds France the child she lost. I'm glad I never finished this because it would've been awful. Edit: I finished it, you fucking degenerates.</b>
</p><p>"...I lost it,"</p><p>Britain looks up from his paperwork, quill in hand. A single drop of ink drips from the tip of the quill and onto the paper below, leaving a deep blue puddle beside his neat writing. "Lost what?"</p><p>"The baby,"</p><p>Britain's eyes fly wide open. His surprised gaze shifts between the quill held between his thumb and forefinger and his wife who stands before him with her hands clutching her belly and tears in her eyes. "...When?"</p><p>"Today," France's voice cracks pitifully as she wipes her wet eyes with a red-stained handkerchief. She sniffles.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Britain looks at her a second longer before returning to his paperwork like nothing happened.</p><p>France grits her teeth, clenching the dirtied handkerchief in her shaking fist. Her breath hitches. "That's all you're going to say?!" </p><hr/><p>
  <b>TW: Spain is an asshole</b>
</p><p>"España, no. Estoy cansado..." Phil says, not looking up from the cutting board as his boyfriend's arms snake around his waist.</p><p>
  <em>(Spain, no. I'm tired...)</em>
</p><p>"¿Realmente?" Spain groans from over Phil's shoulder, being several inches taller than the Filipino. "También, tu español está mejorando. ¡Veo que has estado practicando!"</p><p>(<em>Really? Also, your Spanish is improving. I see you've been practicing!)</em></p><p>Phil laughs a little and smiles, but his eyes don't match his expression. He sets down the knife he's chopping potatoes with. "Muchas gracias, cariño,"</p><p>
  <em>(Thank you very much, honey.)</em>
</p><p>Spain continues to hug Phil from behind. "How are you tired? You've done nothing all day,"</p><p>"What do you mean? I've be—,"</p><p>Spain cuts Phil off. "Did I say you could speak in English?"</p><p>Phil sighs, then restarts in the other language. "¿Qué quieres decir? He estado limpiando la casa y haciendo recados todo el día mientras salías con tus amigos. No me digas que no he estado trabajando hoy!"</p><p>
  <em>(What do you mean? I've been cleaning the house and running errands all day while you were out with your friends. Don't tell me I haven't been working!)</em>
</p><p>Spain suddenly grabs Phil by the back of his neck, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped impressions in his skin. Phil gasps and reaches for Spain's hand, prying at the taller country's fingers to get him off.</p><p>"Escuchas, pequeña mierda. Yo sido romper mi culo todo el día y yo NO esperaba volver a casa a un mocoso. Te sugiero que te comportes,"</p><p>Phil, unable to understand even half of what Spain said, breaks into nervous tears. He continues to grab at Spain's hand wrapped around his throat. "¡Lo siento... No entiendo!"</p><p>
  <em>(I'm sorry... I don't understand!)</em>
</p><p>"¡Maldito idiota!"</p><p>
  <em>Smack.</em>
</p><p>Phil crumples against the counter, hands bracing the back of his head with interlocked fingers. He lets out a single choked sob before crying silently.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Irrimisible (germany breaks down in a bathroom)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: self-injury/harm, mentions of the holocaust</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Germany! Germany, wait!"</p><p>Germany pauses, his hand still resting on the doorknob. He turns to face European Union, who is standing behind him carrying a fat stack of paperwork.</p><p>"Germany, friend, would you do me a favor and get these done by tomorrow evening? You can drop them off at my mailbox when you're finished with them. It's urgent," European Union says, handing him the stack. The thin rubber band bound around the papers is stretched much further than it should be, ready to snap any second.</p><p>Germany's gaze flickers between the paperwork and his boss, his lips curling up into a forced half-smile. "Of course, EU,"</p><p>With that, the European Union trots off without another word. Germany heaves a sigh as he stares down at the paper in his hands. He wasn't expecting a night without work tonight, since Britain left and Germany bears a bunch of his responsibilities on top of his own now, but he didn't expect quite so much to get done. Deciding there's no use in complaining, he tucks the stack under his arm before ducking into the bathroom.</p><p>The building he and the rest of the European Union worked at had metal detectors all throughout the hallways. They always made Germany paranoid, so he'd keep next to nothing in his pockets as he walked in between offices. That paranoia went away when Germany started carrying his little tool with him everywhere he went, which was made of metal. The detectors never went off on him. They were fake, only meant to intimidate workers into obedience.</p><p>Germany's tool was a small, rectangular razor blade he ripped from his safety shaver at home. Tearing apart the device was a cakewalk. He smashed the shaving end and ripped out the blade in a matter of seconds.</p><p>Germany ducked into the bathroom, not even checking if the bathroom was empty before he hurried into a stall. He slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. His arms trembled, unable to contain his eagerness. The German man chucked the stack of papers onto the ground and slumped to the floor. He quickly rolled up the black pant leg the hid his left leg from the world.</p><p>His leg was marred from the ankle up to his mid-calf. Both deep slashes and light scratches he wore on his skin. The fresher marks burned an angry red, still stinging.</p><p>Germany held the razor blade in his palm, staring down at the metal tool with a dazed expression. The blade shined a dark silver, but the bottom side was icky with brown and crimson. The dried blood went crusty on the blade since Germany hadn't taken the time to wash it off after use. He sighed, flipping it around to use the clean end. He looked down at his leg and searched for a clean place to cut. Unable to find anywhere that wasn't sliced to all hell, he rolled up his right pant leg to reveal a perfectly clean calf. That would change soon.</p><p>Germany swiftly brought the blade down against his ankle, slicing through the skin and releasing the red blood beneath. The skin went apart for a moment, then filled with blood and finally started to drip down onto his sock. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.</p><p>How badly Germany wished for forgiveness. How badly he wished for friends. How badly he wished to find somebody to talk to, to pour out all his guilt onto someone and finally feel okay. How badly he wished his father wasn't a fucked man who slaughtered minorities for kicks and was responsible for nearly 80 million deaths worldwide. How badly he wished he didn't blame himself for the actions of his family! Deep down he knew it wasn't his fault, for he wasn't even a teenager when it all happened. He had no control or influence over his father or grandfather.</p><p>How badly he wished Poland would even look him in the eye.</p><p>Germany wasn't sure if Poland was scared of him or hated him or what, but he knew Poland didn't like him in the slightest. And Poland had that right. Poland was traumatized by Germany's family. He <em>should </em>hate Germany.</p><p>And Germany should hate himself, too, he thought as he brought the razor down onto his leg again. He repeated the action over and over, until his sock was sopping wet and the tile floor was streaked with his red blood. Until finally, he dropped the razor blade onto the ground and let his head thump onto the stall wall as he sighed. His hands were wet. His leg was dripping all over the ground and onto his shoe, making a mess he knew he wouldn't bother cleaning up. After a moment of nothing but breathing and thinking to himself, he grabbed the roll of toilet paper, unraveled a bunch of the paper, clumped it together into his hand and started wiping the blood from his leg.</p><p>Germany would never forgive himself.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Canada Is Concerned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>iuvfdgjnhg anger</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How did you go from a toilet paper shortage to full civil war in three months?!"</p><p>"I don't know! But it's fucked up <em>and I like it,"</em></p><p>"You're a sick man, America. So sick,"</p><p>"Why do you say that?"</p><p>"When a government won't provide housing and food during a pandemic but will beat its people down without hesitation when the people rise up, it says volumes about where the government's priorities lay,"</p><p>"That's not what's happening. The people are rioting. Rioting doesn't bring change,"</p><p>"Haven't you heard of the Stonewall riots?"</p><p>"When the gays threw a temper tantrum?"</p><p>"No, when the gays fought for their rights and succeeded. Rioting works, you stupid fucking moron. Learn your own country's history,"</p><p>"What the hell is your problem? Don't tell me how to be a country. I do what I want. First amendment, baby,"</p><p>"Your rights end where another's rights begin. Once you start interfering with another's persons' right to live without fear of being lynched or have some other fucked up shit happen to them, you're violating the first amendment. That Bill of Rights you fight so desperately to protect and throw a tantrum when somebody dares try to touch it? You don't even understand the things written on that sheet of paper,"</p><p>"Absolutely not, Canada. I know my rights,"</p><p>"You clearly don't,"</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0032"><h2>32. lol this is fucked up and sad (CanKraine)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>inspired by LouisCKDiaries on wattpad!! thanks for letting me write this!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: suicidal ideation, mentions of murder</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been a week since Ukraine's funeral.</p><p>Canada wished he had given them a proper goodbye before they stepped aboard the plane back to their homeland. He only kissed them on the cheek and enveloped them in a small side-hug at the gate, then promptly left as soon as they boarded the plane. He drove himself home, listening to a playlist of songs by Ukraine's favorite band. None of the songs were in English and Canada didn't speak a lick of Ukrainian, but he was happy to listen to their music and to try to enjoy it the way they did.</p><p>Ukraine was supposed to return home the following week. Canada would pick them up at the airport and they would tell him all about their visit with their family while he drove to their favorite cafe for lunch. The two lovers would share a basket of bread and Ukraine would comment on the cafe being too cold, to which Canada would respond to by offering them his jacket. They'd decline the offer, but would soon ask for it when the chilly air in the cafe eventually became too much for them. Canada would joke about how Ukraine should be used to low temperatures, considering their Ukrainian heritage, and Ukraine would laugh and call him something silly in their native tongue.</p><p>Ukraine was supposed to be in bed beside Canada tonight, buried beneath the sheets and fast asleep with their arms wrapped around him as they snored away. Instead, they were resting six feet below the ground at the cemetery on Mueller road, right across from Canada's workplace. Every morning when Canada drove to work, he was forced to see their grave atop the steep hill across the street. Never had Canada so desperately wished to go blind.</p><p>The ring sat tucked away in its box in the top drawer of his nightstand, beside the invitation to their funeral service and the near-empty bottle of vodka he nursed every night to numb the pain. </p><p>Canada sat upright, his tired muscles groaning in protest as he kicked off the sheets tangled around his body. He tugged on his cap and threw on a shirt, barely even zipping up the fly of his jeans before rushing out the room with his keys and the boxed ring in hand. He grabbed the shovel from the garage and ducked inside his car. He chucked the shovel into the backseat, indifferent to the smears of dirt the shovel left behind on the fine leather of the seats.</p><p>The engine whirred to life in the dead of the night, evoking a newfound determination within Canada's gut. He carefully set the box in the cup holder. It made a soft thunk as it came into contact with the plastic of the small slot in the armrest.</p><p>The drive to the cemetery was silent, with the exception of the car bumping over the small debris in the road and the hum of the engine. Instead of turning into the parking lot of his office, Canada took a left onto the rough gravel road of the cemetery entrance. The gravel crunched beneath the tires of his car, the grating sound irking his eardrums.</p><p>Finally, Canada drove past the gate that was always open. Grave robbing and general cemetery tomfoolery wasn't common in Canada's town, so the cemetery remained open to all at every hour of every day, except for during funerals, when only invited guests could enter. The only lights in the cemetery were two streetlight-like structures on either side of the open gate and the shining moon above. Canada parked his car in the small, paved parking lot off to the side in the cemetery.</p><p>Ukraine's brother had always been a violent man. This Canada knew well, since every time he met Russia, he was easy to anger and somehow always brimming with irritability. Somebody, usually Ukraine's sister, would step in and get the impetuous man to calm down. Fate was looking the other way that day in shame, Canada supposed, because neither Belarus or their other siblings were home the night Russia took Ukraine's life with his revolver. They'd gotten into a heated argument, Russia said during his confession. He hadn't meant to act the way he did. He never wanted to kill his sibling. He never wanted to kill Canada's lover. But the heartfelt apology Russia gave Canada before the trial did nothing to soothe Canada's mind.</p><p>Canada's fingers curled around the steering wheel in a sudden rush of anger. He grit his teeth, ignoring the dull ache in his gums. Once Russia finished his 15-year sentence, Canada would fucking kill him. He'd take his axe and tear him down the way he tore Ukraine from Canada. That fucker would pay.</p><p>The lot Canada parked his car in was filled with mud. Although irritated, he couldn't say he was surprised. It rained nonstop since Ukraine's funeral, like God himself felt remorse for what he had done. Canada spat a loogie onto the ground. He hoped God was sorry.</p><p>Canada's trek to Ukraine's grave was quick, as he was eager to reunite with his love one last time. With the box in hand and the shovel held securely in the other, he hiked uphill to their resting place.</p><p>"Ukraine, baby..."</p><p>Canada stopped in front of their grave, eyeing their headstone. A row of hollyhock flowers, native to Ukraine and Ukraine's favorite flower, lined the bottom of the gray slate.</p><p>He blinked away a round of tears threatening to breach his waterline and without another word, Canada slipped the box into his pocket and jammed the shovel into the ground. The soil was surprisingly loose, even if it was wet after many days of rainfall. With a small grunt, he lifted a chunk of the soil and chucked it off to the side, the dirt landing in a small heap beside the headstone.</p><p>Canada wasn't sure how long he dug for. By the time he was met with the dirty hood of Ukraine's mahogany casket, the sun had begun to peak over the tops of the hills ahead. He wiped beads of sweat from his brow, heaving an exhausted sigh. He dropped the shovel, his arms aching from the many hours of labor. But Canada wasn't done. He got down on his hands and knees to scrape away the thin layer of dirt covering Ukraine's resting place. As last, he could see the entirety of the large casket. With a huff, he lifted the split lid to reveal Ukraine's beautiful face and upper body.</p><p>The mortician did an excellent job preserving Ukraine. They looked as gorgeous as they did when they were still alive. Canada lifted a shaking hand to cup their cheek, gently caressing the side of their face. He half expected them to crack a smile and lean into his touch, only to be disappointed when he didn't get a reaction.</p><p>Canada lifted the bottom half of the lid to reveal the rest of Ukraine. The ruffly skirt of their dress went a little past their knees and the sleeves ran to the palms of their hands, two small strips of white fabric over the crooks of their thumbs holding the sleeves in their respective place. In their hands they clutched a copy of their favorite book, Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett. Ukraine would quote the author often, Canada's favorite quote being, "The Fool jingled miserably across the floor." Canada's lips curled into a small grin as he remembered their gentle voice, their words Ukrainian-wrapped and their tone crackheadish as they would say, "Come hither, Fool!"</p><p>Canada's arms very carefully went around the dead country's waist as he hoisted them up from their casket. He flipped both halves of the lid shut with his foot, carrying Ukraine bridal style out of the deep hole he dug.</p><p>At first, Canada wasn't sure where he should put Ukraine. If he were to be pulled over by any chance, the cop would see Ukraine's corpse and Canada would be in deep shit. As much as Canada didn't want to, he tucked Ukraine safely away in the trunk. He put the shovel in there beside her too, for good measure.</p><p>The drive home was the same as the drive to the cemetery, except now Canada had a body inside the trunk of his car.</p><p>Canada pulled into the garage and yanked the keys out of the ignition, heaving a sigh as the keys jangled in his hand. Unwilling to let the exhaustion set in, he swung the door open and stepped into the garage. Before lifting Ukraine out of the trunk, he double-checked that the garage door was shut and the curtains in his living room windows were drawn closed. He set them on the couch, propping their limp body up against several pillows.</p><p>"One moment, Ukie. I'll get changed into something more presentable,"</p><p>Canada gave them a soft peck on the cheek before hurrying into the other room to get dressed. He removed his dirty jeans and shirt and slipped into his work pants and a button-up. He pulled the box from the pocket of his jeans and dropped it into the palm of his right hand, examining his reflection in the bathroom mirror.</p><p>He was a mess. Not even nice clothes could hide it. His dark hair took on an even darker color, caked with grease from lack of hygiene and dirt from his trip to the cemetery. His face was oily too, so much so that his skin looked artificially shiny in his reflection.</p><p>With a sigh, he stepped out of the bathroom and back into the living room to see his partner. They were as gorgeous as ever, even in death.</p><p>"Not even death will do us part, baby," Canada sighed weakly as he got down on one knee. "Look, I know I should probably make you dinner first or at least watch a movie with you or something, but I've been waiting to do this for too long of a time. Ukraine, these years I've known you have been the best of my life. And if you let me I'll spend every waking moment I can trying to make you feel the same way. You mean to world to me, Ukie. That's why I dug you up to ask..."</p><p>Canada cracked open the box, revealing a shining, diamond ring inside.</p><p>"Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"</p><p>Ukraine gave no answer.</p><p>"Ukraine? Baby, please, answer me,"</p><p>Still nothing.</p><p>Canada's hands began to shake violently. He gritted his teeth and dropped the box as he clenched his hands into fists. His eyes watered with hot, salty tears. "Ukraine..."</p><p>With that, his voice cracked and he broke into a sobbing mess. Tears flooded his eye sockets and flowed down his oily face, dripping down his his neck and onto the collar of his shirt. He slammed his hands down onto the ground with a cry.</p><p>"Fuck you, God! Why did you take them from me?! Why did you take them from me?! You fucking asshole!"</p><p>He stood up and ran to the nearest wall before drawing his foot back and kicking a hole into the sheetrock. The drywall broke with a loud thunk. Dust flew from the hole he created, only visible in the thin rays of sunlight filtering through the window above.</p><p>"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" Canada screamed, throwing up middle fingers at the sky. "You took them! You took my fucking love!"</p><p>And then a thought popped into his mind. What if he joined Ukraine on the other side?</p><p>His gaze lifted from the mess he made to the kitchen, where several methods were possible. Kitchen knives, bleach, a stove, goodness! He'd be able to see them again if he just put these tools to use!</p><p>With that, the man entered the kitchen with a new confidence.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0033"><h2>33. britain feeds france her dead child i guess (Deficit Revolution 4)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW!!!: miscarriage, nasty, domestic violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"...I lost it,"</p><p>Britain looks up from his paperwork, quill in hand. A single drop of ink drips from the tip of the quill and onto the paper below, leaving a deep blue puddle beside his neat writing. "Lost what?"</p><p>"The baby,"</p><p>Britain's eyes fly wide open. His surprised gaze shifts between the quill held between his thumb and forefinger and his wife who stands before him with her hands clutching her belly and tears in her eyes. "...When?"</p><p>"Today," France's voice cracks pitifully as she wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand. She sniffles.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Britain looks at her a second longer before returning to his paperwork like nothing happened.</p><p>France grits her teeth, clenching the dirtied handkerchief in her shaking fist. Her breath hitches. "That's all you're going to say?!"</p><p>"What else am I to say?! Oh, dearie! Let's fry it and serve it with some chips!" Britain spits mockingly, exaggerating his British accent as he says the last part. "Don't be so pathetic, France. It's an embryo. So what?"</p><p>"It's my embryo! And how dare you! Why would you even suggest that, cooking my dead child?! You're sick!"</p><p>"What, are you supposed to eat it raw? Disgusting,"</p><p>"That's not funny, Britain! Stop joking about that!"</p><p>Britain slowly rises from his seat. "Oh, I'm not joking,"</p><p>France swallows audibly. "...What?"</p>
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<a name="section0034"><h2>34. unfinishedo shito</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>biuhfgjgljhgugg these rotted(rot???rotted???whatistheword) in my drafts for literal MONTHS</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Some stupid thing about third reich and the soviet union ig</b>
</p><p>"Trust me, Soviet... This is best for both of our sakes. A peaceful guarantee that I will not invade your land so long as you don't invade mine. If you refuse to assist the enemy, I will reciprocate,"</p><p>The long sheet of paper sat dauntingly on the dark, wooden desk. Soviet's fingers grazed the paper as he bit his lip. Reich leaned back in his chair, his cigar sending puffs of gray smoke into the claustrophobic office as he huffed. He crossed his arms and propped his black boots on the desk. Soviet glanced back and forth between the Nazi and the treaty with uneasy eyes. Finally, he picked up the fountain pen and scribbled his messy signature at the bottom of the paper. Now that the sheet was stained with his own ink he felt himself slowly calm down.</p><p>He had no idea how horrible of a mistake he just made.</p><p>________</p><p>
  <b>TW!!! AMERICA LITERALLY CUTS OFF HIS FAT!!!</b>
</p><p>America's gaze flickers up and down as he studies his reflection. His fingers pinch and grab at his flesh, earning a disgusted sigh from himself.</p><p>There's too fucking much of him.</p><p>His gaze flickers to the pair of scissors on the counter. He could just cut it all off, he thought. All the flesh he didn't need would be gone. His short, sausage fingers grazed over the sharp, shining blades of the scissors. He traced over the handle delicately as he thought to himself. Why diet when you could just cut it all away? His years of starving himself and purging and abusing substances to lose weight didn't make a dent in his relationship with gravity. But this, <em>this, </em>could finally rid him of what weighed him down. Without any further hesitation, he grabbed the pair of scissors. He pinched a clump of his stomach fat with his free hand and lined the blades up. He'd make it quick. Quick and painless.</p><p>It was not painless.</p><p>America let out a howl of agony as the blades sank into his flesh. Crimson blood seeped out the wound and dripped down his hand, staining the scissors' blades and his skin. Yet he didn't stop. The chunk of meat dropped to the ground, hitting the floor with a wet slap. America bit back a sob and inhaled sharply before letting out a wheeze of pain. His hands shook wildly, threatening to drop the pair of scissors in his clutches.</p><p>"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" America squeezed his teary eyes shut, biting his lip. He took a deep breath before lining the scissors up again and repeating the motion he did earlier. He screamed.</p><p>His stomach gushed red liquid. It came down like a stream from a faucet, dripping down his now less round belly and onto his legs before pooling on the tile floor beneath his bare feet.</p><p>"...Gah! Ah... Ugh..." America collapsed to the bathroom tile with a few pained huffs. He whined pitifully, grabbing a towel and pressing it to his gushing belly. He winced and hissed as the applied pressure added to his pain.</p><p>_________</p><p>
  <b>some finland x estonia stuff ft. the nordic brothers</b>
</p><p>"Finland is definitely into Estonia,"</p><p>Norway chuckles, stirring his hot chocolate before dropping in a few marshmallows and plopping into the chair across from his brother. "You've noticed, too?"</p><p>Sweden nods vigorously. "It's hard not to! He's always defending her, and trying to impress her,"</p><p>"I know, right? And he's always got this look on his face anytime she's in the room. I've never seen him like that before!"</p><p>The Swede kicks back in his chair and takes a sip of his own hot chocolate. He smacks loudly after he swallows. "Speaking of Finn, where is he? I've been meaning to talk to him all day,"</p><p>Norway shrugs, setting down his mug to allow his drink to cool. "Probably at Estonia's place,"</p><p>As if he were summoned, the door unlocks with a click, squealing as Finland creaks it open. The lanky country enters the room, chucking his bag onto the couch and shedding his winter coat. "Det är kallare än en snögubbe's <em>ballsack</em> där ute," He says in his usual monotone voice.</p><p>
  <em>(It's colder than a snowman's ballsack out there.)</em>
</p><p>"Var har du varit?" Sweden asks Finland as he turns to face him. He takes another sip of his hot chocolate.</p><p>
  <em>(Where have you been?)</em>
</p><p>"The park," Finland replies, swinging open the refrigerator door and pulling out the half-empty gallon of milk. He unscrews the cap and immediately drinks straight out of the carton.</p><p>"I told you to stop doing that!" Norway whines.</p><p>Finland flips him the bird as he chugs away. Sweden laughs, earning a scowl from Norway.</p><p>"Fuck you. I like milk," Finland says after gulping down a significant amount of the milk. He wipes his mouth on the end of his sleeve.</p><p>"Yeah, and I know what else you like!" Sweden hoots with a shit-eating grin.</p><p>"Hm?" The Finn raises a brow at his older brother. He takes another sip of the milk.</p><p>Norway watches in horror as Sweden opens his dumbfuck mouth to spill the beans. Before Sweden can utter a sound, Norway slaps a hand over the Swede's mouth. Sweden lets out a gargled screech and struggles against his brother.</p><p>"...You guys are weird," Finland says before taking off to his room, carrying the milk.</p><p>With that, the remaining two brothers erupt into giggles.</p><p>"He's soooooo into her! You can tell just by the way he, I don't know... Exists!"</p><p>"Oh my god, yes! They're so in love! I can't wait for them to get married and have beautiful little babies together!"</p><p>"Shut the fuck up!" Finland seethes from the landing above. He clutches the carton of milk in his hand tightly, his other fist clenched with agitation.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0035"><h2>35. france fucking dies (Deficit Revolution 5)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>america is such a shit brother but its because hes suffering and even tho it doesnt redeem him it makes me sad</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: SUICIDE, NOT GOOD!!! BAD!!! BADBADBADBAD!!!! AMERICA IS A SHITTY BROTHER!!!!!!!!! SELF HARM AND SUICIDE AND BADBADBADBAd</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When America was younger and kinder, he swore he'd protect his mother and brother the best he could, even if it meant losing his life. The sheer amount of respect he held for his mother, France, was immeasurable. An abuse survivor. A strong, independent woman who'd defend her children armed with nothing but her bare fists if it came down to it.</p><p>But France was gone. And America was older and less kind than he used to be.</p><p>"Suicide is for the weak," He'd tell his younger brother, Canada, to discourage him from leaving the world the way their mother did.</p><p>"It's what you do instead of killing yourself," He told Canada after getting caught slitting his wrists over the bathroom sink.</p><p>"Those who even consider suicide deserve to be dead," He seethed at Canada when Canada came to him one night, sobbing, confessing that he was having suicidal thoughts and that he missed his mother and wanted to see her again up in Heaven.</p><p>"Compare me to that bastard again and I'll throw you into the streets," America spat at the younger boy when Canada cried and begged for him to stop acting like the man responsible for the suicide of their mother.</p><p>America wasn't so kind anymore. Years of watching France get beaten bloody by Britain, taking the Brit's belt and the loss of his only parental unit hardened the young man into a stoic, hateful bastard. A miserable man he was. He took out his pain on the only other person who lived in the house anymore: Canada.</p><p>Canada almost wished he'd gone to live with Britain instead. At least Britain was predictable. He could tell when his father was ready to throw a punch at someone. He knew Britain's anger better than he did America's. But the court gave him little choice when the time came for him to pick a place to live. He'd either be taken into CPS custody, or live with his older brother. Of course, he went with the latter.</p><p>America was a force to be reckoned with when he was pissed. The older sibling drank excessively and once he was under the influence, he was completely detached from his true self. Violent. Livid. Like Britain.</p><p>But once, Canada could recall a time when America got drunk and instead of throwing hands at his younger brother, he pulled up a chair in the dining room, sat down, and just cried. At first, Canada wasn't sure what America was doing, as he cradled his head in his hands and sniffled softly. Then a wretched sob wracked the older's body and Canada knew. America was hurting.</p><p>How desperately Canada wanted to sit with him and cry, too.</p><p>What would France have thought of all this? Canada wondered to himself everyday. Would she be disappointed in him for being unable to stand up to America and get him help? Would she be disappointed in America for lashing out instead of finding healthy ways to heal? No, she wouldn't, Canada knew. She'd be beyond worried. What would France do? Canada wracked his brain, trying to remember what France did when Britain was angry.</p><p>Now that Canada really thought about it, France never did much to defend herself, but rather, she did everything in her power to defend America and Canada. She put the kids first, no matter what Britain did or threatened to do. Canada's heart sunk with guilt.</p><p>Even though Britain was out of the picture, it was still hell on earth for Canada. His nights were plagued by nightmares and his waking hours were spent with his unstable brother. Not an hour went by without a reminder of the loss of his mother whom he loved so much. Grief overtook the young teen and swallowed him whole.</p><p>"Get up. Breakfast is getting cold," America flicked on the light switch beside Canada's bedroom door, stirring the teen from his sleep.</p><p>Canada groaned, shielding his eyes from the bright light blaring overhead. "Five more minutes?"</p><p>America shook his head before stepping out the room and walking down the hall, leaving the bedroom door open behind him. Canada sighed and sat upright, chucking off the sheets tangled around his body.</p><p>Canada thought about suicide sometimes. He had no plans to take his own life, but it was just comforting to know he could end the pain if it became too much for him to handle. He wasn't sure how he would do it if it came down to it. One look at his mother's corpse took self-mutilation off the list. Just the idea of slicing his arms up to the point of bleeding out made him cringe. America kept the medicines in the house locked up tight, for fear of Canada accidentally taking something he wasn't supposed to, so overdose wouldn't work, either. Canada didn't know how else he could go. He knew some people die by hanging themselves, but that just seemed uncomfy to him. Wouldn't having all that weight on your neck hurt your throat? Ligature was another option, but Canada didn't know how to do that.</p><p>With another sigh, he clambered out of bed and started getting dressed.</p><p>"Hurry, Nada! We'll miss the bus!" America's loud voice sounded from the kitchen. "You can't be late again!"</p><p>Canada rolled his eyes groggily. "I'm coming, Ame! One minute,"</p><p>Suddenly, Canada got an idea.</p><p>There were many busy streets by his house. After school, he could just refuse to board the bus and walk home instead, but rather than actually go home, he could make a stop at one of the busy streets and kiss a car goodbye.</p><p>With that, the youngster tugged on his jeans and rushed down the steps to scarf down breakfast and catch the bus.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0036"><h2>36. nsjjknjffnkjf dont read this!! spain does no no to phil (PhilSpain)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>i am the ceo of shit writing</p><p> </p><p>EDIT: I JUST READ THRU THIS???? WTF????//??</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: RAPE!!! BADDD!!! NOT GOOD!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"España, no. Estoy cansado..." Philippines says, not looking up from the cutting board as his boyfriend's arms snake around his waist.</p><p>
  <em>(Spain, no. I'm tired...)</em>
</p><p>"¿Realmente?" Spain groans from over Philippines' shoulder, being several inches taller than the Filipino. "También, tu español está mejorando. ¡Veo que has estado practicando!"</p><p>
  <em>(Really? Also, your Spanish is improving. I see you've been practicing!)</em>
</p><p>The Philippines laughs a little and smiles, but his eyes don't match his expression. He sets down the knife he's chopping potatoes with. "Muchas gracias, cariño."</p><p>
  <em>(Thank you very much, honey.)</em>
</p><p>Spain continues to hug the Philippines from behind, his body pressed flush against the short man's. "How are you tired? You've done nothing all day."</p><p>"What do you mean? I've be—,"</p><p>Spain cuts the Philippines off. "Did I say you could speak in English?"</p><p>Philippines sighs, then restarts in the other language. "¿Qué quieres decir? He estado limpiando la casa y haciendo recados todo el día mientras salías con tus amigos. No me digas que no he estado trabajando hoy!"</p><p>
  <em>(What do you mean? I've been cleaning the house and running errands all day while you were out with your friends. Don't tell me I haven't been working!)</em>
</p><p>Spain suddenly grabs Philippines by the back of his neck, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped impressions in his skin. Philippines gasps and reaches for Spain's hand, prying at the taller country's fingers to get him off.</p><p>"Escuchas, mierda pequeña. Sido romper mi culo todo el día y NO esperaba volver a casa a un mocoso. Te sugiero que te comportes."</p><p>Philippines, unable to understand even half of what Spain said, breaks into nervous tears. He continues to grab at Spain's hand wrapped around his throat. "¡Lo siento... No entiendo!"</p><p>
  <em>(I'm sorry... I don't understand!)</em>
</p><p>"¡Cállate!"</p><p>Smack.</p><p>Phil crumples against the counter, hands bracing the back of his head with interlocked fingers. He lets out a single choked sob before crying silently.</p><p>Spain's fingers curl around the belt loops of Philippines' jeans, tugging them down by the waistband.</p><p>"What are you doing?!" Philippines writhes against the counter, pressing his palms against the granite to gain some traction.</p><p>"En español!" Spain hisses in his ear.</p><p>"Let me go!" the Filipino seethes in anger, whipping around to smack Spain across the face and shove him away.</p><p>Spain stumbles back, disorientated for a brief moment. Once he steadies himself, he latches onto the Philippines and tackles him to the ground.</p><p>"Rape! Rape!" the smaller man shrieks.</p><p>"Shut up! Shut up!" Spain grabs a hold of the back of Philippines' head and smashes the Asian's face into the cold tile floor, turning his nose into a bloody, dripping mess. "Stay fucking still!"</p><p>Philippines wails out in agony, writhing on the floor. He reaches his arms back to grab and claw at the man seated on his back, but to no avail. Spain pins the Philippines' hands under his knees.</p><p>"Stop it! No quiero lo!" Philippines cries. Hot, salty tears streak his burning red cheeks. Warm blood drips down his cupid's bow into his mouth, staining his teeth red.</p><p>Spain finally tugs off the pants and briefs that protected the Philippines from his touch. Philippines cries out louder, hoping to catch the neighbor's attention.</p><p>Spain jams three fingers into the Philippines' mouth, shutting him up. "Bite my hand and I'll make you regret it. Suck," he orders.</p><p>Philippines complies, gently sucking on Spain's fingers. He continues to cry weakly and silently.</p><p>"Buen chico, finalmente escuchando quién es su dueño,"</p><p>
  <em>(Good boy, finally listening to who owns him.)</em>
</p><p>"...No, don't say that..."</p><p>"I'll say whatever the fuck I want about you," Spain tugs on Philippines' ear to hiss into it angrily.</p><p>Philippines doesn't reply, only letting out a startled yelp as Spain smacks his ass.</p><p>"Don't fucking touch me!" the Philippines hisses at the man holding him down. He writhes about on the cold tile floor, squirming like a worm held between the fingers of a child playing in the mud.</p><p>"Be quiet!" Spain removes his hand from the smaller man's mouth and instead wraps it around the Philippines' throat, squeezing tightly to constrict his airways.</p><p>Philippines gasps, his mouth hanging open as he wheezes and pants for air. Spain takes the opportunity to lean over and spit his saliva into the smaller's mouth.</p><p>"Blegh!" Philippines manages to squeak out.</p><p>"Now, you're gonna fucking take it! You did this to yourself!"</p><p>"No, no!" Philippines sobs. He shakes his head left to right violently.</p><p>With that, Spain slips two fingers inside of Philippines. Philippines whimpers at the the sudden intrusion and kicks his legs about, trying to throw the larger man off.</p><p>Spain doesn't do so much as even react to Philippines' legs flailing about. He scissors Philippines open, eventually working his way up to adding a third finger.</p><p>"You're lucky I'm even preparing you, slut. Be thankful." He hisses into Philippines' ear.</p><p>Philippines is silent.</p><p>"Say it! Tell me how grateful you are!"</p><p>More salty tears trickle down Philippines' cheeks, slowly making their trip to his chin to drip down his neck. "I... I'm so grateful... Thank you..."</p><p>"Buen chico."</p><p>
  <em>(Good boy.)</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, something much larger prods at Philippines' entrance.</p><p>"No! Stop!" Philippines cries out, squirming around again to evade Spain's cock.</p><p>Spain slams in, balls deep into the Filipino. Philippines' mouth hangs open in a silent scream of agony.</p><p>Spain doesn't give him any time to collect himself before he begins thrusting into him. Philippines lets out a pained whimper before another series of choked sobs.</p><p>"Un buen chico, tomando la polla de su amo."</p><p><em>(A good boy, taking his master's cock</em>.)</p><p>Philippines finally succumbs to the agony and sinks into the floor, sobbing heavily as Spain continues to abuse him.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Enneagram Types Because Why Not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this chapter is cringe</p><p>"The enneagram of personality is a system for seeing the motivation behind human behavior. It helps us learn our values, desires, and motivations—and how that informs our actions and reactions," -some website i don't remember the name of</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Something about me: I'm a four! I believe I'm different from other people and I have immense envy for the things other people have. Jealousy is a big flaw of mine. I feel like I'm missing something and I feel like no matter what steps I take to keep my life interesting, my life is still too dull. I feel like I'll never be truly understood by anyone else, which makes me sad and kind of scared that I'll always be alone with my beliefs. I idealize my relationships and love people to bits. I'm also very empathetic and self-aware :D!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>America is a solid 8! He believes he is an important member of his social groups and often feels the need for security. He holds semi-high standards for himself. He's full of himself and believes he's smarter than he actually is. His ego is greatly inflated and he believes the world owes him something for his contributions to society.</p><p>Canada is a two because he often puts others first, so much so he forgets he needs to take care of himself. Despite understanding how unhealthy this can be, he can't help it. He's a natural caretaker. A nurturing and loving individual with a heart of gold. He has his bad moments, but he tries not to let them show.</p><p>Like America, Third Reich is an eight. Reich holds very high standards for himself and is ambitious, but unlike America, he doesn't care so much about security. Reich believes he is above all other countries, since he thinks that Aryans are superior to all other races. basically he's a racist asshole--</p><p>Soviet Union is also an eight! He's motivated by the desire to be independent and powerful. He believes people should be independent and self-sufficient, but should help each other and give when they can. He also believes everybody has a role in society. He's afraid of intimacy and pushes people away for fear of being abandoned.</p><p>As a seven, Poland is defined by his desire to experience good things, avoid boredom and pain, and to heal from his past. Although he appears enthusiastic and put together, he often disconnects from his deeper feelings and instead focuses on not getting stuck in negative emotions. He's stuck in the past but trying to push himself to look to the future, which tears him apart more often than it helps him.</p><p>Eights are common among countryhumans and Mexico is one of them. He's an opinionated and upbeat person who often seems a bit pushy. He's very set in his ways and doesn't like to stray away from tradition. Mexico is also rather skeptic, for he is quick to judge people's character even when he's just met them.</p><p>Germany is part three and part one, an idealist and an overachiever. He's a workaholic and a perfectionist who wishes to do everything just right and complete tasks in an orderly fashion. He doesn't like to step out his comfort zone so often, but when he does, it's because a loved one has forced him to. Similar to his father (but on a different level and not in a horribly racist way) he knows exactly what he wants to do to perfect his world and it baffles him that others do not share his vision. He fears others' opinion of him and is extremely conscious of his public image, for he wishes to be viewed as unable to do any evil.</p><p>Bonus: Germany has an irrational fear of fascism and Nazis because of what his father did. He feels he has to engage in certain behaviors and do certain actions in order to prevent himself from heading in the direction his father did.</p><p>Sixes are defined by a deep mistrust of the world and deep uncertainty. Russia falls under this type, but he also could be considered an eight because of his strong opinions and need for security. His uncertainties are difficult to verbalize and he's given up on trying to articulate them. His emotions are very strong. His waves of moodiness are enough to capsize his entire brain, throwing him back and forth between only the extremes of emotions. He's either livid, numb, too happy or extremely sad and he has a painful time trying to manage that. He's also part four, an individualist who wants to live life authentically, but his mood swings keep that from happening and at this point, he's given up. </p>
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<a name="section0038"><h2>38. canada commits dead (Deficit Revolution 6) (Finale)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>haha canada go splat</p><p>thanks to franklydear on wattpad for helping me with this one! pls go check him out if you somehow dont already know him, he's fucking awesome</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: SUICIDE!!! CHILD SUICIDE!! NOT GOOD!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Canada refused to board the bus home, walking instead, just like he had planned. He picked a dead-end street, plopped onto the freshly mown grass of the median, and watched the cars rush by. It was a lovely afternoon to die. Birds sang from the telephone wires above. The green trees waved and danced in the gentle wind. Cars rushed past so fast they were nothing but colored blurs on the road.</p><p>Suicide didn't end France's pain. It only passed it onward and latched itself onto her children, like a parasite leaving the shriveled corpse it left behind to find its next victim. That's the way it is. It promises an end to your pain, guaranteeing that once you kick the chair or leap from the bridge or chug the gallon of mace, you'll free yourself from whatever burdens kept you in depression, but instead, it takes your pain and throws it into the faces of your loved ones. Canada knew this. He thought about it a lot, despite it being something a mere child shouldn't even know about. He knew damn well suicide wouldn't be the end of it: he'd just be cycling it onto America, but good God, was it tempting.</p><p>He stood up, his toes hanging over the edge of the curb above the asphalt. The wind thrown off of the cars brushed past his skin and roared through his ears. Then, he took a breath, and jumped off. The kid ran across the street, eyes squeezed shut for fear of looking the driver in the eyes whilst getting run down. He made it across the road unscathed, the only response from the cars rushing by being a couple irritated honks and a few raised middle fingers.</p><p>This repeated multiple times. Over and over again, until Canada got sick and tired of throwing himself into traffic and sat himself back onto the green grass of the median. The cars continued to rush by.</p><p>Eventually, the sun went down, and the street lights flickered on to faintly illuminate the street ahead. Moths and other bugs clustered themselves around the lights above, creating little speckles of dust-like stuff floating around the dull yellow lights.</p><p>As the sun finally slipped below the skyline, Canada tried a final time. But right as his sneakers first squeaked against the pavement, a voice cried out in the night.</p><p>"What the fuck are you doing?!"</p><p>Canada's head whipped around, his eyes flickering about.</p><p>It was America.</p><p>America ran from one median to the other, waving his arms about angrily. "It's been hours! Haven't you gotten my calls?!"</p><p>Canada's gaze snapped back to the traffic. With a sudden rush of adrenaline and newfound determination, he made a break for it.</p><p>He dove in front of an oncoming semi.</p><p>Canada had hoped that once he delivered a kiss to an oncoming vehicle, that would be the end of it. That was not the case.</p><p>The sickening crunch of bones and the squishing of flesh could be heard from where America stood. A panicking human swung open the shiny, white door and stepped out onto the asphalt, eyes wide with horror and shock. He gasped upon seeing the massacre below the semi's tires.</p><p>"You!" America seethed, rushing to the human.</p><p>"I'm— I'm so sorry! I'll call an ambulance!" The man raised his arms in front of his face in defense, sensing America's anger.</p><p>America took a swing. He nailed the man in the jaw, the force of his punch sending him flailing into the side of the truck.</p><p>That wasn't enough. America was still angry.</p><p>America grabbed the man by a fistful of his hair and slammed his face into the window of his vehicle. The glass shattered, getting stuck in the human's face and some in America's hand.</p><p>"Sir!"</p><p>America wouldn't listen. He threw the man to the hard, asphalt ground, sat on his chest and wrapped his hands around his throat, constricting his airways as tight as he possibly could.</p><p>The man beneath him writhed around on the ground, eyes full of fear like an animal trapped in a corner. He turned his head to his left in an attempt to throw America off, but that only resulted in him getting a good, hard look at the dead child beneath his truck.</p><p>The human screamed.</p><p>"You killed my brother! You killed him!" Tears filled America's eyes, threatening to breach his waterline and spill down his red cheeks. He leaned forward, allowing all his weight to go down on the man's throat.</p><p>The man choked and sputtered for breath, writhing about on the cold asphalt ground. His lungs burned and ached, and it felt like somebody had stuck a lit flamethrower down his throat. He raised a hand to tap on America's own, like one would do in a martial arts match of some sort, but America hardly noticed.</p><p>Eventually, the man stopped moving.</p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Burn, Baby Burn! (America and Confederacy)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>haha confederacy go slip</p><p>i researched alcoholic drinks that light on fire and i went down a rabbit hole of conspiracies about vodka. do your research carefully, kiddos.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: america sets a teenage boy on fire</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Maybe you're thinking, Confederacy, stay, please! Fuck you, I see no god up here except me!" Confederacy hooted from where he sat atop America's roof, loading a musket whilst smoking a fat cigar.</p><p>"Get your ass down here before I blow your brains out!" America loaded his own musket, staring up at the rebellious delinquent teenager.</p><p>Is this what his father had to put up with all the time when he was a kid? If so, America was terribly sorry.</p><p>"Lincoln ain't my president!"</p><p>Suddenly, Confederacy fired. Luckily, he's shit with guns and missed America by several feet. The bullet landed in the dirt, a bit of mulch shooting up in the air. America's drink sloshed in its glass as he jumped aside.</p><p>"Jumping Jesus, Connie. Just get down from there so we can talk it out," America groaned He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, squinting. He took a sip from his small glass of rum.</p><p>The Confederacy stood from where he sat on the roof. A roof tile slipped out from under his boot, causing him to slip himself. He stumbled for a moment, then finally regained his balance. "Never! Just declare war already!"</p><p>"You're not a legitimate country. Why would I give you that satisfaction?"</p><p>"Listen here, fucker—!"</p><p>Confederacy took a step forward, only for another precarious roof tile to slip out from under him. He slid with the roof tile, the back of his shirt lifting up from beneath him to leave his skin vulnerable to the abrasive tiles. Down and down his slid, until he finally dropped off the ledge.</p><p>Confederacy hit the ground with a thud.</p><p>"Ame! I... I think I broke my arm!" he cried and clutched his now twisted up, limp forearm. His cigar was now on the ground, the tip burning orange.</p><p>"Aw, Connie... Poor thing!" America rushed to his side, already brandishing his lighter.</p><p>He dumped his glass of rum over the teenager's head, then grabbed him by a clump of his now wet hair before spitting in his face. With a toothy grin, he set the Confederacy aflame.</p><p>Confederacy's screams of agony could be heard for miles. The teen howled and kicked, flailing his limbs about while trying to roll in the dirt to put out the fire, but America wouldn't let the boy roll away.</p><p>"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I'm sorry, Ame! Please!" Confederacy pleaded.</p><p>America laughed maniacally at the boy's pain, stuffing his lighter back into his pocket. He tried to take another sip from his rum, only to remember he used it all on Confederacy.</p><p>"America! Please!" Confederacy sobbed.</p><p>Eventually, Confederacy's cries subdued after he went unconscious.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0040"><h2>40. roach time (numero uno???)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>no idea if ill continue this</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Imagine a tsunami. A towering wave of water that demolishes buildings and homes, floods schools and churches, and takes the lives of many civilians.</p><p>Got it? Now replace the water with roaches.</p><p>There were tens of thousands of them flooding the streets. Maybe even millions. Russia cringed as his boot sank into a hissing puddle of the pests. He was sure if he waded into the center of the road he'd be waist deep in them. Russia had grown up in a house with a roach problem, so seeing a few here and there was no big deal to him. But this incident— no, catastrophe —gave him the heebie jeebies. He dragged another foot forward, his mouth tight lipped and eyebrows furrowed in disgust. He trudged down the roach-littered sidewalks to his rundown apartment.</p><p>The parking lot was a disaster. Cars were submerged, and Russia was up to his shoulders in the vermin. He pulled himself to the front steps of his apartment complex, pausing when he heard a yelp from above.</p><p>Russia looked up to investigate the noise. A man stood from his balcony, looking at the sea of domestic pests with wide eyes. "Oh, my God. What the hell are those?"</p><p>Russia cleared his throat, rubbing his forehead wearily. "Roaches, there's tons of them. Didn't you hear about it on the news last night?"</p><p>"I cut my cable a while back to save cash. Read it in the paper though. I thought some hooligan teenagers were playing a sick prank," America sighed, almost afraid to ask. "Are... Are they alive?"</p><p>Russia flicked one off his shoulder. It landed in the lot and joined the writhing ocean of its brethren. "Yep. They're filling up my boots, I can feel them crawling around,"</p><p>His neighbor shivered. "Sweet Jesus,"</p><p>Russia jammed his jagged key into the lock and gave it a turn, but lock didn't give that familiar click. He grunted, kicking the door with his foot.</p><p>"Hey, uh?" He looked up at America, swallowing the embarrassment of having to ask for help. "I think the door's caught on something..."</p><p>America stepped away from the railing of his balcony and hummed. "I'll be down in a minute. Wait there,"</p><p>Russia folded his arms over his chest, tugging his jacket around himself tighter to protect himself from the chilly autumn weather. He'd prefer snow over this goddamn charade. Four feet of ice cold precipitation would have been better than four feet of six-legged almonds. He exhaled deeply through his mouth, his breath hanging in the cold air.</p><p>Russia jumped out his skin at America's voice and the sudden the blast of warm air.</p><p>"Hey, you coming in?"</p><p>"Oh," Russia walked past America and into the lobby. "Yeah,"</p><p>America glanced into the street as Russia brushes past. "That's absolutely disgusting..."</p><p>"You can say that again," Russia grunted as he poured roaches out of his boots and onto the ground. He tried to stomp them into a paste before they skitter off. "Imagine drowning out there,"</p><p>America gags. "Don't make me vomit, Russia,"</p><hr/><p>"So..." Ukraine tapped on the glass. "They weren't kidding..."</p><p>Russia shook his head, dropping his jacket and keys on the laminate counter. After America let him into the complex, Russia had invited him over for a drink. Their neighbor was now seated on the ugly burgundy sofa.</p><p>"You'd think this kind of thing would only happen in movies..."</p><p>America leaned back and folded his arms. He shut his eyes with a sigh. "No fucking shit, this only happens in movies. We're living a fever dream."</p><p>Russia plopped into a barf green seat across from him, staring out the window by his roommate. "What do you think EU, UN, and NATO are gonna do?"</p><p>"I haven't a goddamn clue," Ukraine let the edge of the curtain fall away from their fingers. "Declare it an emergency? Depends how much of the world is flooded."</p><p>"According to the paper this morning, every country has reported at least a fourth of their territory flooded with roaches," America chimed.. "So of course it's an emergency."</p><p>"We'll have to go on lockdown."</p><p>"I'm not doing that! The economy will turn to shambles!" America furrowed his brows.</p><p>"America, your people will die if you force them to work during a global disaster."</p><p>"They'll be fine."</p><p>Ukraine fiddled with the television as the two bickered, turning knobs and pressing buttons to turn the shitty box on.</p><p>"What is wrong with you? Are you trying to get everyone killed?"</p><p>"No, I'm protecting my country."</p><p>"Shut up, you two! Listen!" Ukraine hissed, pointing to the TV.</p><p>The WHO, UN, NATO and EU all stood at podiums, taking turns speaking. Well, they weren't quite taking turns. Instead they were arguing back and forth over who's turn it was to speak. Finally, the WHO ends the argument and turns to the camera.</p><p>"As we speak, there are many infestations in every country right now. Masses of cockroaches flood the streets, fill houses and disrupt our day to day life. However, we have decided it is not necessary to go under lockdown."</p><p>"Jesus fucking Christ!" Russia seethed. "Not necessary to go under lockdown? Get the fuck out of here."</p><p>Ukraine sighs. America pumps his fist in the air.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes ik this is shit i literally do not give a flying fuck</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. tHIS FLESH PRISON IS INESCAPABLE HOW I WISH FOR DEATH (America)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: EATING DISORDER, BLOOD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This body doesn't belong to him.</p><p>America wanted a body to die for and everyone around him who was thinner than him felt like a rival. At dinner with his family, whenever somebody would eat less than him, it turned into a challenge. America's eating disorder felt like a game.</p><p>America's life revolved around numbers now. The number on the scale, the number of calories in his breakfast, the number of times he could make himself throw up in one day... et cetera.</p><p>But numbers weren't enough. America needed results, now. His disorder made him feel like he was finally in control, but no matter how many pounds he shed, his body was never perfect enough.</p><p>America's gaze flickered up and down as he studied his reflection. His fingers pinched and grabbed at his flesh, earning a disgusted sigh from himself.</p><p>There's too fucking much of him.</p><p>His gaze flickered to the pair of scissors on the counter. He could just cut it all off, he thought. All the flesh he didn't need would be gone. His short, sausage fingers grazed over the sharp, shining blades of the scissors. He traced over the handle delicately as he thought to himself. Why diet when you could just cut it all away? His years of starving himself and purging and abusing substances to lose weight didn't make a dent in his relationship with gravity. But this, this, could finally rid him of what weighed him down. Without any further hesitation, he grabbed the pair of scissors. He pinched a clump of his stomach fat with his free hand and lined the blades up. He'd make it quick. Quick and painless.</p><p>It was not painless.</p><p>America let out a howl of agony as the blades sank into his flesh. Crimson blood seeped out the wound and dripped down his hand, staining the scissors' blades and his skin. Yet he didn't stop. The chunk of meat dropped to the ground, hitting the floor with a wet slap. America bit back a sob and inhaled sharply before letting out a wheeze of pain. His hands shook wildly, threatening to drop the pair of scissors in his clutches.</p><p>"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" America squeezed his teary eyes shut, biting his lip. He took a deep breath before lining the scissors up again and repeating the motion he did earlier. He screamed.</p><p>His stomach gushed red liquid. It came down like a stream from a faucet, dripping down his now less round belly and onto his legs before pooling on the tile floor beneath his bare feet.</p><p>"...Gah! Ah... Ugh..." America collapsed to the bathroom tile with a few pained huffs. He whined pitifully, grabbing a towel and pressing it to his gushing belly. He winced and hissed as the applied pressure added to his pain.</p><p>"America? Are you okay in there?!"</p><p>"Yeah, I'm good!" America's eyes widened. "Just... I fell over!"</p><p>Blood began to pool on the floor around America, slowly making its way to the thin gap under the bathroom door.</p><p>Canada gasped. "America, there's blood coming under the door! Let me in!"</p><p>"I can't!"</p><p>"America, please!"</p><p>"I can't! I can't!"</p><p>"America!"</p><p>A moment of silence passes.</p><p>"America?"</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0042"><h2>42. unfinished shit because *i need content*</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: mentions of rape???</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>France taps his shoulder. He turns to her with wide eyes before his expression calms as he recognizes her.</p><p>"France! Dearie, how have you been?" Britain's pearly white teeth show through his wide grin.</p><p>She smiles, raising her hand. Britain gasps and recoils, clutching his burning cheek.</p><p>"What was that for?!"</p><p>"You are possibly the worst man I have ever met. How could you do something so disgusting?!" France grabs onto Britain's wrist, yanking him closer like he's a child as she chastises him.</p><p>He struggles to pull his hand away from the outraged woman. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"It breaks a mother's heart when she realizes she's failed to protect her baby. I had one job: to protect him from you. I thought you were an evil man and your behaviors would rub off on him,"  France continues. "But I realized that wasn't why I should have been protecting him. You make it difficult to be a mother, Britain."</p><p>"Francia—,"</p><p>"Do you know how hard it is to see your boy crying on his bathroom floor? To see him so hopelessly wrecked? I had to carry him into the tub so I could help him scrub himself clean from your touch. You monster."</p><p>Britain opens his mouth to speak but France shuts him up by raising a finger to his lips.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>CW: NSFW, briefly describes america getting railed by russia in the bathroom, Mexico fucks around with cocaine</b>
</p><p>It was a sight to behold.</p><p>America propped up on the sink, getting absolutely railed by Russia. Russia's pants down to his ankles, sweat dripping down his shirtless back. America's arms looped around the Russian's neck. Gasps and whimpers from the man below Russia. Soft grunts from the other country above.</p><p>It was quite a sight indeed, however, a sight Mexico never wished to see.</p><p>Mexico wouldn't say he was in love with America, but there was most certainly some growing feelings the man had for the American, despite that America treated Mexico like shit. So then why did it hurt that bad to see the scene described above?</p><p>Mexico had no idea, but he knew a damn good way to erase his feelings. He left the bar and entered the deserted parking lot, throwing his hood over his head and stuffing his hands into his pockets to protect himself from the cold.</p><p>He dug through his messy trunk, tossing aside articles of clothing and empty grocery bags in search of the substance he so loved. Eventually, a bag of white powder came into sight.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>okay but apparently cocaine from cuba is better than cocaine from mexico??? somebody educate me on the differences between the countires' cocaine pls</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Nothing Is Real LOL (Germany)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>not me venting iudnwrjabvanhgjra</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: derealization, mentions of suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nothing felt real.</p><p>The world seemed to be dull and lackluster. Colorless. Everything lacked something, and Germany wasn't sure exactly what. If the world was a blank canvas and Germany was the painter, then he had left all his brushes and paints at home.</p><p>If the world wasn't real, the people weren't, either. Nobody was real. Poland, his lover, wasn't real. Nothing was real and therefore, the events that took place all the time were the products of a simulation.</p><p>This shouldn't have been so terrifying to Germany. Nothing was real, so what? Love what life you're living, regardless if it's fake or real. But if everything was fake and only defined by the labels he put on everything, then what was the point in continuing to live?</p><p>There was still a tad bit of hope left for Germany.</p><p>If Germany died, he'd wake up in the body of a better version of himself, in the body of a man who lived in a real world with real people and had real experiences. Deep down Germany knew this wasn't true, but Germany wasn't in touch with his wise mind.</p><p>Germany looked up from his desk piled with paperwork, suddenly aware of an urge to pee. He sighed and pushed his chair back from his desk before getting to his feet.</p><p>Germany trudged down the miserable, narrow hallway leading to his bathroom. He leaned through the doorway to flick on the lights of his bathroom, squinting to shield his tired eyes from the sudden brightness.</p><p>His urge to pee was stronger now. He hurried into the restroom, unzipping his fly with one hand as he walked, his other hand sliding across the counter. He did his business, then took a few steps back and turned to face the sink to wash his hands. As he finished scrubbing soap from between his fingers, he peered up at his reflection.</p><p>Who was that, staring back at him? That wasn't his face. Wait, what did Germany look like again? Those eyes he made contact with were two dark empty pools, completely devoid of all emotion Germany swore had been there before. And his skin, his skin? That couldn't have been his skin he was wearing. Germany suddenly felt very itchy. He dug his bitten-down stubs for fingernails into his arm. That nose. On whose face did that nose belong? Something was off, but Germany couldn't say what. He opened his mouth to say something to the strange man staring back at him, only to realize those weren't his teeth he was looking at, either. He curled the tongue in his mouth, the tongue that didn't belong to him. He blinked. Those eyes, again. They couldn't be his. The way his eyelids shut wasn't the same as the way his real eyelids did.</p><p>Real eyelids. Real eyelids. Where was Germany getting this from?</p><p>Oh, the waking up in his real body thing! That had to be it. This wasn't Germany's real body. He was stuck in the simulation. He'd wake up in a better body with a better life if he just died. But Germany didn't want to die! That couldn't have been his only solution. No. Germany refused to believe it.</p><p>The man slowly seated himself on the bathroom floor, relishing the way the cold tile made goosebumps rise from his skin. He basked there for a moment, forcing all thoughts away from his mind. Head empty, no think. Only tile.</p><p>Germany buried his face in his hands, his palms pressing so hard on his eyelids he saw fireworks. He drew in a deep breath, paying close attention to the rise of his stomach, held it for a few seconds and then let it out, listening to the gentle 'woosh' escaping his lips. He'd be okay, he told himself, he was here on earth, on real earth, living his real life in his real body. His feelings and thoughts were real and they were his own. He'd be okay. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. Dead Men Tell NO Tales (O Irrumabo)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is shit</p><p>wleocme to the au where reich wins ww2</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: necrophilia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soviet was dead by the time America found him.</p><p>They had cut out his tongue, as if to make him an example of what happens when you speak out. The front of his shirt was drenched in blood, presumably from his nose, which was caked with the same crusty, dark brownish reddish substance. His face was mauled— one of them had taken a knife to slit his eyelids and slice up his cheeks. His cloudy eyes were glazed over and gave America the stare of a very dead man. America took one of his limp hands in his own, only to drop it with a gasp. Soviet's hands were cold.</p><p>America struggled to lift the big man up and hoist him onto his back like his body was a bloody backpack. The rest of his body, like his hands, gave off no heat.</p><p>The Soviet Union's body weighed heavy on America's back. He trudged up the stairs, going two steps at a time like a trooper. He carried him all the way up, until he reached the top of the stairs and paused to rest for less than a second, only to shake off the tiredness and tell himself resting would only take up more of his time. He moved quickly to take Soviet into the bathroom.</p><p>America set Soviet in the empty tub and considered stripping the man of his clothing and washing his clothes. He quickly dismissed the thought, but it came back again as he unfastened Soviet's clunky boots. With a sigh, he gently lifted Soviet's hips and tugged down his pants, but not his undergarments, partly out of respect but mostly because he didn't want to see his enemy's nether regions. He carefully folded the pair of pants before setting them on top of the toilet lid. America then stripped Soviet of his shirt, cringing at the sheer amount of blood on the shirt and the fact that Soviet's whole torso was covered in bruises and horrible gashes. They came to beat him bloody and they did their job well, America thought. The Soviet Union's chest and stomach were painted black and blue, with sickening shades of green thrown in between along with smears of blood. Some of his ribs had to be broken. </p><p>America folded up Soviet's shirt and set it on top of the pair of pants. He crammed the plug into the drain of the tub and turned on the water. The water quickly turned red from the blood all over Soviet's skin. He grabbed the bottle of body wash from the side of the tub, set it on the ground by his feet and got up to grab a rag to scrub Soviet down with.</p><p>The soap smelled nice. It smelled like lavender, but sweeter. America wet the rag in the water before pouring a liberal amount of soap onto it. The purple-tinted soap ran down the side of his hand, making its way down his forearm. He paid no mind to it, instead focusing on the task at hand. He began scrubbing the man's bloody arm, scrunching his nose up upon being greeted with the smell of body odor as he lifted Soviet's arm. He very quickly scrubbed his armpit, then dunked the rag back into the water.</p><p>America spent the next thirty minutes carefully scrubbing away every speck of dried blood and dirt from the Soviet Union's corpse. Eventually, the time came for America to wash the blood out of Soviet's clothes. Upon closer inspection he realized the clothes were unsalvageable. Instead of bothering to scrub out all the blood, he drained the tub, made his way to the Soviet Union's room and entered his closet to look for something clean to put on the dead man. He picked up a nice dress shirt and slacks, deciding that if Soviet were to meet God, he'd want Soviet to look nice.</p><p>America gingerly folded the clothes and draped them over his forearm. He slowly made his way back into the bathroom, pausing at the door for a moment to look at the Soviet Union.</p><p>America wondered what would become of the Soviet Union's children. Would they die, too? Or would they become their own independent countries? America couldn't say which he wished for, but he'd be happy if Soviet's dick of a son, Russia, died. Russia was a piece of shit, just like his father.</p><p>America got to work at drying off the corpse and dressing it up. He struggled to tug on the dress shirt, for it was probably a size or two too small for the bulky Russian. America realized he shouldn't have left Soviet's underwear on because now it was too wet for him to slide on the slacks. He returned to the bedroom again, searching through various drawers, looking for a fresh pair of underwear. He selected a pair with pink hearts, deciding that since nobody would see it, it wouldn't matter.</p><p>As America yanked down Soviet's briefs, an intrusive thought flickered in America's mind.</p><p>What if he fucked the corpse?</p><p>America shook his head. No, that would be vile. Absolutely disgusting. But nobody would have to know, right? It could be America and Soviet's secret. And since Soviet was dead, Soviet wouldn't be able to tell. Dead men tell no tales.</p><p>With a slight smirk playing upon his lips, America shimmied out of his clothes and climbed into the tub with the dead body. He jammed three of his fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking at them like a lollipop.</p><p>America quickly worked himself open with his fingers, well aware that if he didn't take his time it would hurt, but he didn't care.</p><p>Soviet's dick was limp, unable to get an erection. That was to be expected. America paid no mind, anyway. He straddled Soviet's corpse, grabbing onto the dead man's cock and lining it up with his hole. He slid down onto it, his mouth hanging open at the sudden intrusion.</p><p>"Ffffffffuck..." America groaned.</p><p>Although he knew it was silly, he glanced down at the Soviet Union, checking for a reaction. Of course he wouldn't react, he was dead. America chastised himself in his head at this.</p><p>America took Soviet's hand in his. Not in an affectionate way, but to hold onto Soviet like he would to any fuckbuddy.</p><p>Then came the sound of a truck pulling up.</p><p>They had come to clean up their mess, America realized, and soon they'd be sweeping America's guts off the floor if he didn't get out in time.</p><p>America rushed back into the bathroom to throw on his clothes. He unlocked the bathroom window with a click, then pulled the window up with a grunt. Using a fingernail, he pried open a small hole through the mesh screen and tore it away. He peered down at the grass below.</p><p>It wasn't that high of a jump. He could make it if he landed on top of the garbage bin, then he could hop down to the ground.</p><p>With no hesitation, the American leapt from the windowsill and landed on his feet on top of the trash bin, landing with a loud thump. They had to have heard him. He clambered off the bin and got to the ground. Quickly, he bolted down the street.</p><p>Poor choice. They had a lookout standing at the front door.</p><p>"Hey!"</p><p>Fuck. America was next.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. america is a dumbass (shitpost, credit to a video i saw a while ago)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"America, this is A-853, please adjust your course by fifteen degrees to avoid collision. You are heading straight for us. Distance: twenty-five nautical miles." </p><p>"We suggest you adjust your course by fifteen degrees to avoid collision, Spain." </p><p>"Negative. I repeat, adjust your course by fifteen degrees to avoid collision." </p><p>"I'm with the United States Navy. I insist that you adjust your course fifteen degrees north to avoid collision." </p><p>"I do not consider that possible or convenient. I suggest you adjust your course fifteen degrees north to avoid collision."</p><p>"I'm aboard the second largest carrier in the entire US Navy. I'm currently being escorted by two battleships, six destroyers, five cruisers, four submarines and support vessels. I'm heading for the Persian Gulf to take part in military maneuvers for an offensive against Iraq. I do not suggest, but order you to to adjust your course or I will be obliged to take the necessary measures to insure the safety and security of this fleet. You are an allied nation who's a member of NATO and are part of the coalition. Obey my orders immediately and get out of my way."</p><p>"I am currently being escorted by my dog, my food, two beers, and a canary that's currently asleep. I have the support of Coruña Daily Radio and the Maritime Emergency's Frequency number 16. I'm not going anywhere, since I'm talking to you from dry land. I am in lighthouse A-853 Finisterre on the Galician coast. I have no fucking idea where I am the ranking of Spanish lighthouses. You can take whatever actions you find necessary and fucking like to insure the safety of your fleet, which is going to smash itself into the rocks. Again, I insist and suggest the healthiest and most recommended course of action to take is that you adjust your course fifteen degrees so we avoid colliding with each other." </p><p>"...Oh.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. trainwreck christmas special</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I apologize in advance— this entire chapter is a train wreck. I wrote this in december of last year so it sucks, big time. and i refuse to finish it.</p><p>also i meant to post this on christmas but i guess that didn't happen so</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: mentions of the Holocaust, graphic depictions of oranges</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Quick question: who the fuck put oranges on the Christmas tree?"</p><p>Belarus, who's stringing up lights over the doorway points to her brother, who's still sticking oranges in between branches. "Russia did it. It's a tradition we have."</p><p>America squints, watching Russia's movements closely. "But why?"</p><p>"You wouldn't understand, you pig," Russia refuses to meet America's gaze and instead grabs another orange from his Adidas backpack. He jams it onto the tree by impaling it with one of the branches. "Besides, oranges are great. Why not?"</p><p>Canada snorts in amusement at the two before taking a sip of his hot chocolate. He wipes the hot drink from the edges of his mouth and wraps an arm around Ukraine, who's seated next to him.</p><p>"I thought Russia promised to be sober at the holiday party," Canada raises a brow, staring the Russian who's now playfully slapping America.</p><p>Ukraine shrugs and returns the embrace. "He's not drunk, I don't think. He's just in a good mood."</p><p>"A good mood?"</p><p>Both Ukraine and Canada laugh. Ukraine leans a tad bit closer, peering into Canada's mug.</p><p>"What's that?" They ask.</p><p>"Just some hot cocoa. Want a sip?" Canada offers, holding out the mug.</p><p>Ukraine shrugs again and gingerly takes the mug from Canada. They bring it to their lips and take a tiny sip.</p><p>"For the love of God, take it easy on the maple syrup!" Ukraine says, handing the beverage back over. They wipe their mouth on their sleeve.</p><p>Canada chuckles and takes a swig. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"It tastes like I took a bite out of a maple tree!"</p><p>Canada bursts into laughter, keeling over with the mug clutched weakly in his hands.</p><p>Ukraine, unable to resist a smile, cracks a grin at the sight of their boyfriend. "Okay, maybe it's not that bad. Let me try it again."</p><p>Canada passes the hot chocolate back to Ukraine, who takes another sip. Their eyes widen and they spit it onto the carpeted floor.<br/>"I take it back," Ukraine says, wiping their mouth again. "It's terrible."</p><p>"It can't be that bad—," Canada is interrupted by a certain Aussie barging into the room.</p><p>"Sorry I'm late! There were a bunch of ibises crowded on my driveway and I had to fight them off."</p><p>America looks up to see his other brother. "Chill, Aussie. You're not late. Barely anyone's shown up yet."</p><p>"Yeah, not even NATO or EU are here yet," Russia says from behind the tree.</p><p>"What's he doing?" Australia asks America, pointing to the drunkard working on the tree.</p><p>Before America can answer, Russia sticks his head between the branches to shoot Australia a glare. His ushanka becomes covered with leaves. "Oranges. They're important. Germany said so."</p><p>"What? When did Germany praise oranges like so?" America and Australia give him a look.</p><p>"C'mon, America! You were there! Don't you remember?"</p><hr/><p>"It hasn't been inside of anyone," Russia retorts. "Just like you."</p><p>America rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I hope your favorite deli stops selling your favorite sandwich."</p><p>Germany speaks before Russia can spout another insult back at the American. "Now, while we wait for that to distill..."</p><p>"Why are you distilling oranges?"</p><p>Germany shrugs. "You'll see."</p><p>Russia and America exchange confused faces a second time.</p><p>Germany retrieves a small bottle from his pocket. He holds it up for both of the other countries to see. "This, right here, is limonene. It dissolves things."</p><p>Germany ties up the balloon-condom before setting it on the table. He pours a droplet of the limonene on the condom. Russia and America reel back as the condom explodes with a loud 'pop'.</p><p>"You just wasted my condom!"</p><p>"It's not like you were ever going to use it."</p><p>Germany slides the piece of styrofoam over to the burst condom. He tears off a chunk of the material and sets it on the table. He pours some limonene on it and lets Russia and America watch it dissolve.</p><p>"Is that acid?" Russia asks, genuinely interested.</p><p>"Yes," Germany answers. He puts the lid on the container and hands it to Russia so he can observe it. "It's the major component in citrus fruit peels. It causes that weird smell in oranges and is used in cleaning products."</p><p>"Why do you have this?"</p><p>"Purely coincidental," Germany smiles sincerely. He looks back down at the now melted styrofoam. He pokes it with the end of a pen. "It's not dangerous to touch, I don't think. But I'm not sure. I'm an engineer, not a chemist."</p><hr/><p>"Just because Germany made a knife out of oranges, styrofoam and vodka doesn't mean oranges are all-powerful fruits," America crosses his arms across his chest, giving Russia a displeased look.</p><p>Russia shrugs before sliding back behind the tree. "Whatever you say, fatty."</p><p>"Hey!" America perks up. "I'm not fat... Just big-boned."</p><p>
  <b>(rjdjdjdndnnd there was supposed to be a really funny bit here but i never wrote it out)</b>
</p><hr/><p>The room is decked out with holiday decorations and jam packed with many countries. Belarus is still fighting the lights, Russia is hunting for more oranges, Australia and New Zealand are snorting cookie crumbs up their nose and Greece and Italy are playing Yahtzee. Off on the far left side Britain and France sit together, watching the scene unfold like an old married couple. ASEAN, European Union and United Nations are in the corner, chatting about something, likely politics. NATO is nowhere to be found. The Nordics and Estonia are having a gingerbread house building contest (Well, that's kind of what it looks like. Sweden is yelling at Estonia for some unknown reason and Finland is looming behind him, preparing to strangle the Swede). Germany is explaining something to Poland and Hungary, drawing little rough sketches on the whiteboard. Hungary looks bored but Poland is eagerly watching Germany with a lovestruck look on his face. America is speaking with Mexico somewhat civilly, which is a rare occurrence these days. It's likely because Canada is right behind him, holding Ukraine's hand and watching America intensely.</p><p>"Good news: I got North to come!" South announces as he enters the room, beaming proudly. He clutches North's hand and holds it high, as if to prove North is truly there.</p><p>"Let me go," North yanks his hand away from his twin. He sneers.</p><p>South shrugs, pretending not to be hurt. He scurries over to Japan and 1870. North joins China on the other side of the room.</p><p>America emerges from his conversation with Mexico and Canada, his head spinning slowly like a swivel as he searches for someone. He strolls off in a different direction, leaving behind the two other countries of North America.</p><p>"I'm sorry he treats you like that. I promise it's only because of his current leader—," Canada starts as soon as America is out of earshot, but Mexico holds out a hand to shush him.</p><p>"No, no. I understand. Human politics are strange like that. Don't apologize," Mexico lowers his voice so nobody else can hear. His voice suddenly drips with an angry venom. "Voy a meter un cactus tan lejos dentro de su culo gordo que tendrá más pricks en su boca que durante Pride Month,"</p><p>(I'm going to shove a cactus so far up his fat ass, he'll have more pricks in his mouth than during Pride Month.)</p><p>"Woah," Canada reels back in surprise. "I don't even speak Spanish, but I know that was nasty,"</p><p>Mexico chuckles. "You don't even want to know, Canadá,"</p><p>Canada is spared from responding by the lights suddenly dimming. The room is barely illuminated, making it difficult to see more than fifteen feet ahead. The instrumental of a well-known song blares through the speakers above.</p><p>"I don't want a lot for Christmas... There is just one thing I need!" A voice shouts from somewhere in the room.</p><p>"Texas! Get the fuck down from there!" America shouts at his rowdy son, who's somehow found his way onto the ceiling.</p><p>Texas, butt-naked and held up by nothing but a few layers of ductape, continues screeching along to the music. "I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree!"</p><p>America stares up at the state, eyes blazing with anger. His gaze flickers to the doorway, where Alabama and Florida are snickering.</p><p>"I just want you for my own..." Texas sways slightly, but freezes when the tape starts to give way. His voice goes up an octave as he begins to panic. "More than you could ever know. Make my wish come true—,"</p><p>Thump!</p><p>Texas plummets to the ground face-first, making the surrounding countries gasp and cringe. America hurries to go after him, but Phil grabs his shoulder to pull him back.</p><p>"Let me go! That's my son!" America protests through gritted teeth, but Phil doesn't let him go.</p><p>Texas clambers to his feet in a rather ungraceful manner, but appears uninjured from his fall. He puffs out his chest and spreads his arms out above his head, allowing his entire nude body to be seen by all and revealing that not only is he butt-ass naked, but he is also smothered head to toe in almond butter.</p><p>"AaaaaAaaLL I want for Christmas iiiiiiiIIIssss..." Texas takes a deep breath before shrieking in as high of a voice he can muster. "Yooouuuuu!"</p><p>"...Quite a vocal range the kid has there," Britain comments quietly from somewhere behind America, who whips his head around to face his father.</p><p>"Don't encourage him!"</p><p>Texas is quickly apprehended by security and dragged away, leaving a trail of almond butter behind him and the two guards carrying him. Alabama and Florida continue laughing from the doorway as Texas waves goodbye to them.</p><p>ASEAN and UN have to grab onto European Union by his arms before he charges at America. NATO steps in front of him, holding his hands up like he's trying to calm an agitated bull.</p><p>"Hey, hey! Let's chill a bit, EU. It's not like he hurt anyone—!"</p><p>European Union breaks out of their grip shoves his way through the crowd and to America, who's expression is a mixture of shock and pure terror.</p><p>"I'm so sorry, European Union. I didn't know he'd be here," America tries to begin.</p><p>"You!" EU steps in a small puddle of almond butter. He looks down at his now dirty shoe and lifts it out of the mess, disgusted. "You disgrace of a father!"</p><p>"I don't want a lot for Christmas! There is just one thing I need—!" Texas pops back into the room, somehow having already escaped security. "I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree!"</p><p>
  <strong>AND THEN I GAVE UP—</strong>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. reich gets flayed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this was inspired by that guy from the roman empire who got skinned alive. shoutout to my mans, king valerian</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: non-con/rape</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soviet slipped the ring down the shaft of Reich's cock. "A peep comes out of your mouth and you're getting flayed."</p><p>Reich nodded, staring up at Soviet with bleary eyes. He settled down on his hands and knees in front of the man's large chair, hissing as his sore, bruised knees came into contact with the hard tile ground.</p><p>"Did you hear what I said?" Soviet snarled. "What part of 'don't make a sound' is so hard to understand?"</p><p>Reich's eyes widened. His wet, sweaty hands nearly slid out from underneath him as he slowly crawled away from the Soviet Union and ducked under the table.</p><p>"Come back to me."</p><p>Reich made no move to return to his original position.</p><p>Soviet shoved a hand into his coat pocket and fished around, then pulled out a pocket knife. He flipped it open and brandished it before himself. "I said, come to me."</p><p>Reich shook his head.</p><p>Soviet lunged for Reich, who screamed and backed away even further under the table like a scared animal. Soviet scrambled under the table after him, eventually backing him into the corner of the room.</p><p>Footsteps sounded from down the hall.</p><p>Soviet's eye widened. He gripped Reich by his arm and dragged him across the room, then tossed him onto the ground in front of his chair before sitting down. "Hands and knees!" he tucked his knife back into his pocket.</p><p>Reich did as he was told. He flinched and bit back a whimper as Soviet leaned back and brought his legs up to prop them up on Reich's bare back.</p><p>Then came a faint click from something in Soviet's other hand. The ring began to vibrate.</p><p>Reich's head lolled forward and his jaw dropped, saliva already pooling under his tongue. He soon began to drool. The clear fluid dribbled down his chin and dropped onto the floor, where it collected for the next few minutes.</p><p>Soviet turned up the intensity. Oh god, oh fuck.</p><p>Reich's arms and legs began to tremble violently. He slipped down to rest his upper body weight on his elbows, which earned him a harsh slap on his naked back. It stung, but it was bearable. Still, Reich corrected his position for fear of the greater threat.</p><p>Countries soon filled the room, filling the rows of seats like eggs in a carton. Soviet and the surrounding countries went on and on about shit like their economies and trade, recent war, upcoming conflicts, and other things Reich didn't care to listen to. He was fully engulfed in the buzzing feeling around his cock.</p><p>"Gah!" Reich suddenly gasped, his knee sliding out from under him. He threw a hand over his mouth, looking up from the floor to see Soviet's reaction.</p><p>Soviet grimaced, yet made no move for the knife in his pocket. "Get back up," he hissed quietly, just loud enough for Reich to hear.</p><p>Reich stayed still on the ground, frozen like a deer in headlights, legs spread out beneath himself and bare chest pressed flush against the cold tile floor. He gasped and heaved for air, panting like a rabid dog.</p><p>"Get. Up," Soviet dug his boot into Reich's arm. "You're disrupting my meeting."</p><p>Reich shakily rose from his elbows back onto his hands. He brought his knees back into place, his body trembling like a leaf.</p><p>Soviet smacked Reich's ass, his gloved hand coming into contact with Reich's red skin with a slap. Reich let out a noise, which resulted in a harsh kick to the side.</p><p>"Be fucking quiet!"</p><p>With that, Reich went silent and the meeting continued. However, Reich didn't stay quiet for long.</p><p>Soviet turned up the intensity to its max and Reich collapsed into a heap on the floor with a wanton moan.</p><p>Soviet lurched forward, grabbing Reich by his armpits to throw him onto the round table. Reich screamed, kicking his legs and flailing about to evade Soviet, but to no avail. Soviet gripped Reich by his thigh, holding him close while he unzipped his own pants and whipped his cock out. </p><p>The countries seated at the table remained silent, watching with unreadable expressions as Soviet proceeded to slip inside Reich dry and pound the daylights out of him.</p><p>"You wanna disrupt my meeting? You wanna make me look like a fool in front of everyone? Then I'll show them all what an ugly slut you really are. Scream, scream for me."</p><p>And scream Reich did.</p><p>"Stop, stop!" Reich howled, arching his back and wriggling about to escape Soviet's clutches.</p><p>Soviet brought his large hands around Reich's neck, squeezing as tight as humanly possible. He leaned forward to put all his weight on Reich's poor throat, pumping in and out of him at an impossible speed.</p><p>"Take it, take it, slut. You like that? You fucking like that?!"</p><p>With that, Soviet shot his load into Reich. And then with no hesitation, he pulled the knife from his pocket and flipped it open.</p><p>Reich's eyes widened. "No, no!"</p><p>He threw himself off the table and made a run for it. However, a country seated at the table was already a step ahead of him. She leapt from her seat and tackled Reich, shoving him down to the ground.</p><p>Soviet grabbed the woman and chucked her off of Reich, not even bothering to utter a thanks.</p><p>"You'll be picking your teeth up off the floor with broken fingers if you don't stay still for this."</p><p>Soviet pounced onto the small man.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HELL YEAH BABY SHES UNEDITED!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. Dog Teeth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: MENTIONS OF RAPE AND GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The 1940's. Hell on earth. Years of nothing but war and death had plagued the earth, washing over it like a tidal wave of tragedy and flooding everyone's thoughts and minds. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. It was a goddamn world war, of course everyone knew. It worried mothers of soldiers sick, knowing that their sons may never come home. It worried the leaders of nations, hoping to god that they hold on for another day so that they can try to turn it all around. It worried the children and their siblings, wondering if things would ever be the same. But most importantly, it worried the nations themselves. They were scared of losing, of letting their people be hurt despite how hard they fought to keep them safe.</p><p>Soon enough, though, the bombing of one harbor had flipped the whole war upside down. And then, the global superpower called the United States of America had awoken like a sleeping giant. With an economic boom at his heels and a new spark of rage the world had never seen before in his eyes, he was ready to finally play his part within this wretched war. Within ten years, he had manufactured a bomb so powerful that people still fear its destructive path today, and had used it to defeat his enemy. But he had yet to vanquish this enemy of his.</p><p>The tall superpower shifted his weight, roughly tossing the heavy burlap sack against a large metal pole. His movements were savage and harsh, but almost effortless in their cruelty and anger. He didn't need to strain a single muscle to be this heartless with what he had dragged down to the darkest depths of this wretched metal warehouse he had.</p><p>Imperial Japan awoke with a start. His eyes flickered open, struggling to adjust to the pitch black darkness that was the room he was trapped in. Blankets upon blankets of darkness laid upon him, smothering the man in this— this feeling of dread. Something, no, someone, was coming to hurt him.</p><p>Who? Imperial Japan had a plethora of enemies. God fucking knew.</p><p>Imperial Japan sat upright. Something rough bound tight, tight, tight around his wrists and he couldn't stand it. He struggled against the rope, wringing his hands and twisting his wrists in every which way.</p><p>The room was silent. Empty. Dark. It held no happy emotions or any hope for escape, no positivity and no light at the end of the tunnel. There certainly was not, especially if the room was this dark.</p><p>But yet, the darkness also wasn't so empty. Within the corner of the room, if one were to strain their eyes, was the unmistakably bright oceanic blue and catlike eyes that belonged to only one country. Of course, the Japanese man who was bound to a pole in the middle of the room wouldn't be able to tell, especially since the blindfold over his eyes was obscuring his view. And the room wasn't all that dark at all. It was dimly lit with a warm colored light in one area in the room, the space where Imperial Japan was sitting.</p><p>A disappointed tutting came from somewhere in the corner of the place.</p><p>"I'd quit it, if I were you." A low, deeply threatening American-accented voice growled. "It'd be a shame to cut your wrists open and bleed out."</p><p>"Fuck you! I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Imperial Japan seethed at this voice he immediately recognized. He spat in whatever direction, hoping to spit on the stupid fucker who abducted him.</p><p>Growing more and more livid by the minute, the impetuous man began kicking his legs like an angry donkey, flailing about. He continued fucking with the ropes around his wrists. Somewhere in the fray his blindfold slipped down to his nose, allowing him to see America's ugly face.</p><p>The words that the Japanese man had spat were nothing but white noise to the much larger male, going in through one ear and out through the other. He didn't care too much for empty threats and bluffs, nor did he take them to heart. He simply brushed them off.</p><p>"Mhm. Sure." America growled, lifting up his hand to check his nails and cuticles with a certain boredom in those heartless and cruel eyes.</p><p>He looked up for a moment when he heard Imperial Japan spit, which had come nowhere close to him, but then went back to checking his nails and waiting for him to finish. The minute he saw the white blindfold fly off of his face was the very minute that America stopped checking his nails like a high school girl and faced his captive, looking him up and down once before donning a sickeningly wide grin. His teeth glinted in the low light setting, shiny and slick with saliva but triangular and razor sharp like that of a shark's. Or, better yet, Reich's.</p><p>"When I get out of here— And you can bet your fat ass I will —I'm going to... I'm going to..."</p><p>Imperial Japan bit back a sob.</p><p>"I'm going to send my men for you! And! And..."</p><p>Imperial Japan wasn't stupid. He knew resistance would prove futile. Fighting America, whether in hand-to-hand combat or with words, would be hell. The overpowered country had the world by a string. If America said he wanted it, and then he had it. And if America wanted Imperial Japan beaten, hanged and blood slunk, then that was going to happen.</p><p>"...Don't hurt me."</p><p>This was rather uncharacteristic of Imperial Japan. Usually, if the man had to go down, he'd go down kicking and screaming. It was even his motto: "If I'm to go, I go down swinging."</p><p>America could only raise his eyebrows at that. The grin he had on his face never melted away, always letting him know and rubbing it into his wounds that America had won. He had won and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He could struggle and kick and scream all he'd like, but he'd seldom have any satisfaction of winning in his last hours of living. America knew it well. Each sob the Japanese man he'd tied up tried to swallow down was another little boost to that ego of his.</p><p>He didn't just have the world on a string, he had the world tied to his hands in a way that he could puppeteer it like a goddamn marionette. Whatever he wanted, he would get. If he wanted blood, then that is what he would get. If he wanted to consume human ribs or to feast on the soft meat of innocent children — something he would do, according to his enemies — then he could fucking do it. Nobody could stop him. He would get off scot free.</p><p>America could only scoff. "Why shouldn't I?"</p><p>"What did I ever fucking do to you?!!"</p><p>This Imperial Japan knew. Again, he wasn't stupid. Imperial Japan didn't have to regress far into his thoughts to remember all he did to the man in front of him.</p><p>There were close to a million words in the english language, and yet not one coherent sentence you could string together using them would be descriptive enough to express the unshakeable fear that loomed above Imperial Japan. He was Atlas with the world on his shoulders, only it wasn't the world, it was the knowledge that he was not going to make it out of this room alive. The next and final place his body would see would probably be somewhere in the dirt. So, figurative flashlight in hand, Imperial Japan's mind was determined to describe the fear that not even the greatest poets could begin to describe.</p><p>Imperial Japan didn't know many English words to describe fear. Sesuji ga kooru, he would call it in his mother tongue. It didn't have a direct English translation, but it was along the lines of "spine-tingling".</p><p>America's mockingly intimidating grin faltered for just a moment, barely even a second, at the Japanese man's words. Those feline-esque slits for pupils he had widened just a little, nearly giving away an emotion that the male had hoped so badly to suppress. Pain.</p><p>In the snap of a second, it was gone. His pupils were back to heartless slits, his thawed blue eyes icing over with the sheer frigidity that had overtaken him in the years of war. The ice in his veins seemed to grow colder again as fury, red hot, fiery hatred and anger burst to life in his chest again. It was so incredibly strong that his angry expression melted and morphed into one that was close to nothing but pure fucking rage. That kind hearted, loving, welcoming America that everyone said he was? Gone. Gone with the wind and without a whisper of a goodbye. A laugh bubbled up from his chest as he flashed his teeth. That laugh became maniacal within seconds.</p><p>"Are you shitting me right now? What did you do to deserve this? Oh my god, you can't be sincere." America barked out, pacing a small area that was still within the shadows of the room. "Do you seriously not remember?"</p><p>America reached into his pocket as he turned towards Imperial Japan, beginning to step towards him at a threateningly slow pace. As he got closer, he pulled out what appeared to be an oddly shaped metal thing with a clip. Upon pressing a button, a blade popped out from it with a sharp metallic shiiiing! America stopped in front of Japan, pressing the tip of the blade to his throat in a quick motion. "Then allow me to jog your memory."</p><p>Imperial Japan fucking pissed his pants in sheer terror as the blade licked at his throat. Now he was overcome with not only terror and resentment but also humiliation. Delightful.</p><p>One thing Imperial Japan knew was that when you turned fifty, you weren't just fifty. You were fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, and so forth. All the way to zero. When you needed to be strong and independent, you were fifty. When you needed to party, you were twenty. When you needed to cry in your mother's arms and piss yourself, you were three. Imperial Japan was three right now.</p><p>He must've been severely dehydrated, because Moses on a pogo stick, his pee sure reeked. How long had he been knocked out? He hadn't a clue. He supposed it didn't matter, since soon he was going to be shoved into a trash bag, loaded into a trunk, and then thrown into a shallow grave.</p><p>America looked down to the male's soiled pants with a wrinkled nose and curled lip.</p><p>"Shoulda listened to that sunovabitch when he said to cut the damn bladder open." He snarled lowly to himself, gripping the handle of the switchblade tighter and pressing it into his delicate throat skin more. He felt like he was poking a water balloon with a needle, coming so close to spilling his blood from the arteries that settled just below his jaw and above his neck bone.</p><p>"For starters, you hurt a territory of mine." America's unforgiving glare continued to pierce Imperial Japan's soul through his eyes. "My territories are not just my property and my servants, they're my goddamn children. And I'm sure you know what happens when you attack a mother bear's cubs."</p><p>America continued on.</p><p>"Then, you had the balls to attack my baby, my sweet baby girl Hawa'i. Or... for you, it would be Hawaii. You sank my oil ships, you killed my civilians, and you were even awarding me a peace prize!" he pressed more. Any more pressure would spill Imperial Japan's blood and make him choke. "Then you fight me for control of my child, Midway, and you hurt the citizens of the Philippines." "Now tell me, now do you remember?"</p><p>"F... Fuck you."</p><p>"I'll pass." America spat. "I don't need to catch whatever you got from harassing those poor women in Manila."</p><p>Imperial Japan spoke through gritted teeth. "Go ahead, kill me. Do whatever you want. J-Just..."</p><p>Imperial Japan stuttered. Shit.</p><p>"...Just know that whatever you do to me, my men will find a way to do to you. And not even death will wife you in the end, you sick bastard."</p><p>"Sure." America grinned. "After I give myself a nice little snack before that. Fighting on an empty stomach is sickeningly boring."</p><p>The movements were too quick to register, but one second the knife was against Imperial Japan's neck, and then next it had been plunged into his gut and dragged down to his waist. It was so quick that not even any of the blood was able to splatter onto America's face. This clever bastard knew exactly how to cut deep enough to reach in, but not to kill.</p><p>"Oh, and, I'm sure that someone will. In fact, I even know who they are." America grinned as he reached into the pocket of his army coat. He pulled out a bottle of foggy, pale yellow liquid that was attached to a spray bottle. "You know him. Perú."</p><p>He sprayed some of the liquid onto the area of the wound. Unlucky for Japan, it was a mix of salt and lemon juice.</p><p>Imperial Japan let out a cry of agony. Remember when he said no words could describe his fear? It was happening again, but this time it was pain. Blood gushed out his wound, pouring onto the already dirtied concrete floor. The combined scent of iron and lemon in the air made Imperial Japan even sicker. Tears came running down his face as a violent sob wracked his hunched frame.</p><p>"I've brought you here so you could be punished for your actions. But I've also locked you down here to prevent you from touching, or even breathing in the same direction as my darling." America tossed the bottle aside as he let a maliciously hungry grin spread across his face. "And you know damn well that I've succeeded in doing so."</p><p>At that, it was a night full of nothing but pain for Imperial Japan, and a nice dinner for America.</p><hr/><p>"Ame!" Peru squawked, clambering off the couch to go give his mans a bear hug. The short man's knit hat nearly flew off his head as he darted over to America, and he stopped for a moment to correct its position. Then he made another noise and engulfed his lover into a warm, loving embrace.</p><p>"I missed you! It's been so quiet around here without you! Nobody to—" he paused. "You smell like lemon."</p><p>America's ears were graced by the sound of his lover's cry of joy, so sweet and gentle like that of a small songbird's melody. Immediately, his neutral expression became this warm and gushy smile, love and warmth glinting in his blue eyes as he bent down to be at his level.</p><p>"Hello, Perú." The American brute greeted him so gently, as if raising his voice just the slightest bit would shatter him like glass.</p><p>He let him adjust himself for a moment, opening his arms to the smaller male and engulfing him into a hug that pressed him close to his chest. Those small arms that wrapped around his ribs in such a trusting, loving way made America's insides flutter with glee. Fuck. Shit. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.</p><p>"I do?" America feigned surprise. "Is it good or bad? Because it might be the new soap I got."</p><p>"Oh, no, I didn't mean to— It's good! I like lemon. Reminds me of my mother's kitchen!" Perú's thick accent was like butter on a roll, smooth and silky. He beamed up at America, eyes wide and gleaming with nothing but pure joy.</p><p>Oh, how he loved his boyfriend. America had to be the love of his life. Without America, there was no Perú.</p><p>"Wanna cuddle and watch something? I've missed you so much..."</p><p>America's small internal panic was silenced quite quickly by his boyfriend's double take, especially when he noted it was a nice scent. He nearly sighed with relief, his slitted pupils once more widening and becoming calmer as he deflated just a little. He delivered a gentle squeeze to Perú's fragile but supple ribs, feeling him and taking in how he was such a small being compared to him. It sent some sort of pleasant, restless feeling into his stomach.</p><p>"Oh, good." He hummed. "I'm glad you like it."</p><p>He loved this boy so much. He couldn't even put it into words exactly how much he loved him. America would rip the world in two if it meant that Perú wanted it. This gentle little being right here deserved all of his love and affection, and he was willing to give it over unprompted.</p><p>"Of course, darling." America purred, like a large tiger or beast to a hare. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, I hope you weren't too lonely while I was gone?"</p><p>"It's fine," Perú took the massive lad by his hand and practically dragged him to the couch. As he plopped onto the soft cushion of the couch, he looked up at America and raised a brow. "Where were you, anyway?"</p><p>Perú eyed his lover up and down, taking him all in. What a privilege it was to love America, a great honor to be his.</p><p>However, Perú had long suspected something was up. America would come home late often without a believable explanation. Each time this happened, Perú would let him go without so much of a concern, but lately, he couldn't shake the fear that America was having an affair.</p><p>America allowed himself to be led to the couch, well, more like dragged, watching his small boyfriend move him to the living space to lie down and cuddle on the couch. He knew damn well that Perú was a loyal boy, more so than many other people he knew, and he was more than glad to have him closer than he would allow any other country. Oh, his sweet little Perú, his adorable, lovable, incredibly naïve Perú... Oh how his heart would break if he found out what America does.</p><p>"I was out at a work function." America lied softly, acting like he was explaining himself as Perú sat himself down onto the couch. "Well, more like I was dragged into it. Coworkers wouldn't leave me the hell alone about getting to know each other, and I couldn't really leave for a little while. I'm sorry I got held up."</p><p>The much larger male noticed how his boyfriend was looking him up and down, and he took it as an opportunity.</p><p>"Like what you see?" He teased, placing a hand on his hip. "You know, it's all yours."</p><p>Perú made a series of noises that could only be described as a keyboard smash. His cheeks flushed even redder as he buried his face in his hands. He then leapt onto America's lap, nuzzling his face into the man's neck. He planted little kisses along the shelf of his jaw, occasionally nibbling at the skin along the way.</p><p>"Shut up! I'll eat you alive!"</p><p>Oh, the irony.</p><p>America chuckled softly at his boyfriend's flustered reaction, a grin making its way onto his face as he watched him hide his face from view. America gave a soft oof from being jumped on, leaning back on the couch while sighing and chuckling. Ah, there was never a bland moment with his small boyfriend. Especially— oooh, that felt nice. The much larger brute melted into Perú's affection almost immediately, his large and muscular body becoming pliant within his hold as he felt those soft little kisses and nibbles along his jaw. A low and breathy groan of satisfaction sounded from the brute.</p><p>America gave him a grin that flashed his sharp teeth just a little. "Not if I get you first."</p><p>"Oh? Is that a challenge?" Perú snickered, biting down a little harder, this time on his neck. He sucked on the flesh before pulling away to admire the hickey he left. "Wait, I'm sorry, I should've asked first—"</p><p>"You bet, my little morsel." America purred, watching him with curious eyes as he moved from his jaw to the soft skin and flesh of his neck. Normally he'd move anyone who wasn't him away from that area, but he trusts Perú a whole hell of a lot. He wouldn't stab him in the throat. A shivering chill of some gentle pleasure crawled up his spine, and this time a more firm noise of pleasure slipped from him.</p><p>"Careful, sweetie, don't start something you can't finish." He could only grin at him panicking slightly due to the importance of consent they had stressed earlier. "And hush, it's fine, I enjoyed it."</p><p>"Oh, okay! Do... Do you want to, uhm. Uh..."</p><p>Perú blushed furiously. His face was so red he could give Vietnam a run for his money.</p><p>"We don't have to! It's fine if we don't— I know we've never..."</p><p>Perú gay panicked.</p><p>America could only chuckle at his boyfriend's embarrassment, watching as he fussed over his words and struggled to get out what he wanted to say. The best word to describe it was utterly adorable. His boyfriend was adorable as all hell.</p><p>"Only if you're okay with it." America kept his voice very low and soft, close to a purr and a croon but smoother and so much kinder.</p><p>"God, yes. Can I be frank with you?"</p><p>America raised an eyebrow. "Mhm, go on."</p><p>"I've wanted to... For a while. I've never trusted someone so much. You're— You're literally the light at the end of the tunnel for me."</p><p>America stopped for a minute. His boyfriend really was telling him that he was all he needed. Was... Was he being serious? He hoped to god that he was. He hoped that he meant every word he just spoke and he hoped to the lord on high that he wasn't dreaming.</p><p>America's grin softened to a much gentler, loving smile, as he squeezed Perú's waist gently. "That's.. quite a lot of meaning you've got there. I'll be sure to make it worth your while, my love."</p><hr/><p>"Saludos!" Perú clinks his shot glass against Costa Rica's, then brings it to his lips to swallow the liquid inside. It burned in the best way as it shot down his throat. It was almost like someone shoved a flamethrower into his mouth and fired away, except not painful. Perú wouldn't be drinking if it hurt. He hated pain and avoided it at all costs.</p><p>Perú promised America he wouldn't drink too much, since Perú was a lightweight and very sensitive to alcohol. Perú was a responsible drinker, but when hanging around good friends, it was too easy to go overboard and end up sick.</p><p>"So what did you want to talk about?" Perú wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smacking his lips.</p><p>The good natured and heavyweight drinker clinked her glass to the other's, smiling softly and downing the alcohol with ease. It burned, sure, but it was a pleasant burning. She liked the burn. It made her feel alive, like the night was still young and she was still able to party hard and worry about the cops later.</p><p>Setting her glass down onto the table, she reached for the bottle again and filled her glass with more of the tequila. It wasn't her favorite, Mexico didn't make the best alcohol, but whatever.</p><p>"Oh, yeah. That." she downed the glass. "You ever notice that America acts a little odd?"</p><p>"No? He's so sweet. So so so sweet... He gives the best kisses and he's such a good cuddler! He's gentle and soft-spoken, but he can step up when he needs to, like at meetings and someone's fucking with him. The only thing I've ever noticed about him is that he sure has a short fuse. What a temper he has! He's never gotten mad at me before, though. Actually— Once I ate the noodles in the fridge when he asked me not to and he got really mad. But it wasn't for long! And he didn't hit me or anything, just raised his voice, realized what he was doing, then walked away!" Perú froze. "Oh, I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm so sorry..."</p><p>He quickly downed another shot.</p><p>"No, no, dude, it's fine." Costa Rica waved off his apology. She downed another shot of alcohol, wincing at the slight buildup of intensity from the burn. She didn't mind, though. It was all fine.</p><p>"That's good. But have you noticed how he acts around other people?" She urged. "Does he stay out late and come home at night a lot?"</p><p>"Well, yeah..." Perú blinked. "I've thought about him having an affair— Is that what's going on? God, please don't tell me that!"</p><p>"Oh honey," Costa Rica sighed, filling her glass once more and downing it. "It is so much worse than that."</p><p>"Oh, you're scaring me. What is it? Tell me, please."</p><p>"What do wolves and beasts do?"</p><p>Odd question to ask.</p><p>"...Eat people?"</p><p>"Bingo." Costa gave him a finger gun and clicked her tongue. "Now, what if I told you that America is just like those beasts and wolves?"</p><p>"That's not funny, Costa Rica!" Perú frowned. "You scared me!"</p><p>"I'm not joking," Her stern tone and serious facial expression said it all. She really wasn't joking. "I'm being serious here."</p><p>Perú froze for the second time that night. "No."</p><p>"America is a fucking man-eater, Perú." Costa hissed. "Look at his teeth. It says it all. His eyes are like that of a beast's, he's meant to hunt people."</p><p>Perú bit back a sob. "No! Tell me it's not true!"</p><p>"Does he often stare at people with hatred? Does he come home smelling oddly of scents that are strong or acidic?" She continued to interrogate him. "Face it, Perú, he's not what you think he is."</p><p>Perú broke down crying, burying his face in his hand. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, tugged it over himself. "I... I have to go."</p><p>He fled.</p><p>Costa Rica only sighed, filling her glass with more tequila and downing another shot. If that boy goes to confront America, he'll get eaten alive. At least she tried to warn him.</p><hr/><p>Perú unlocked the door with shaky hands, nearly dropping the key several times as he jammed it into the tiny slot. He swung the door open with a creak, shedded his coat to hang it on the rack, then wiped his tear-stained face.</p><p>From his lounging position on the couch, the American brute looked up from the TV to eye the door with some sort of anxiousness as he heard the key turn in the door, and the small metallic clicking of the lock unlocking. Almost immediately, America knew who it was. He lifted himself from his position on the couch, shutting off the TV so he could pay better attention to his boyfriend.</p><p>"Perú?" America called, his voice gentle even when it was raised. "You're back early. Did something happen?"</p><p>Perú's head jerked up to shoot America a dirty look. Boy, was he pissed. "You! You monster!"</p><p>He immediately broke down again. He collapsed against the door, slid to the ground with his arms around himself and started rocking himself back and forth whilst sobbing violently.</p><p>America recoiled at Perú's sudden snap, his eyes widening as he took a step back from the boy and blinked. What happened for him to call him a monster? What happened?</p><p>"W-What?" America's voice sounded slightly strained. His shock didn't fade either when his boyfriend's legs had given out as he slid down the door to kneel on the floor. His violent, pained sobs sent a knife into America's chest and kept hammering it in deeper. It wasn't long before he had begun to get closer, sympathy and slight pain in his eyes. "Perú? Baby? What's wrong?"</p><p>"Don't ever call me that again! You know what you did!" Perú seethed between heaving cries. Sobs wracked his little body, his stomach rising and falling rapidly. "Those nights you stay out late— I thought you were having an affair, but no! You... You... You're a monster! A fucking cannibal!"</p><p>Perú thought his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. He ran his hands through his hair, then gave it a sharp tug. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe— Fuck, he was hyperventilating. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu</p><p>America recoiled once more, that knife that was stabbed into his chest pushing deeper. Pain was not a feeling he knew too well, but he was damn sure that he didn't like it. The large brute felt helpless at that moment, wanting to get closer to his boyfriend and knowing well that his smaller partner didn't want him to be closer. He was in pain and he wanted to take that pain away.</p><p>Suddenly, he felt like his heart stopped.</p><p>How the fuck did he know? Who the hell told him? All the questions he wanted to ask, and yet the only thing he did was get closer to him. He was trying to comfort him, because his panicking was killing him.</p><p>Perú let out a blood-curdling shriek. It was like someone tore out his stomach, tied it in a fat knot, then shoved it back inside. He raised his fist and began punching his own head, trying to wake himself from this nightmare. His boyfriend couldn't be a murderer, absolutely not. Not the love of his life.</p><p>America's eyes widened with nothing but fear, for himself and for Perú. The shriek rattled his senses quite a bit and twisted his stomach into knots, but the minute that Perú began to punch his head was the minute that America stopped playing gentle. The brute suddenly made a dive for his boyfriend, grasping at his wrists very suddenly and harshly to prevent him from doing any harm to himself. That was the last thing that America needed to feel he was responsible for.</p><p>Perú screamed bloody murder. Surely the neighbors had to have heard by now. He wriggled against America, suddenly struck with the terrifying thought that America was going to kill him, too.</p><p>"You're fucking— Are you gonna kill me, too?!? Fucking do it! Fucking kill me!"</p><p>Again, the screams. They were grating and horrible, but they also called over the neighbors and sometimes even the cops. Cops were never a good sign. America gripped his wrists tighter to combat his struggles to get free, practically trapping him in the corner between the wall and the doorway. He'd had him trapped, and he was looming over him like some sort of hungry wolf. A wolf staring down at the helpless lamb.</p><p>America only narrowed his eyes. "If you keep pushing, I will."</p><p>His voice was cold and cruel. Harsh. It was never a voice he had used on Perú before, but there's a first time for everything.</p><p>Perú went silent, with the exception of each rapid and shallow breath with the occasional gasp. "A... Ame?"</p><p>Remember when Imperial Japan couldn't describe his fear? Yeah, well, that again. But Perú. His heart practically stopped.</p><p>The only noise that could be heard was his shallow breathing, but also America's slow and very obviously steadied breaths. He was trying to control himself, to reign in his demons before his boyfriend got hurt by them. He didn't want to have to show him this side of himself. He thought he could shelter him from it. He thought he could escape it.</p><p>But no.</p><p>America closed his eyes as he inhaled slowly, opening them up again as he exhaled and stared down his lover once more. "Yes?"</p><p>His low, barely controlled voice had growled, but this time his voice wasn't quite as harsh.</p><p>"...You're hurting me," Perú's eyes flickered to his wrist, which was clenched too tightly in America's iron grip.</p><p>Above all things, Perú felt betrayed. He had put all his faith and energy into his relationship with the man on top of him, but it was all for nothing. Nothing at all.</p><p>America didn't listen at first, his tight grip on Perú's wrists never letting loose for that minute that America seemed to be ignoring him. His blue eyes stared back into Perú's, unreadable and intimidating.</p><p>However, after that painstaking minute, he'd loosened his grip on his wrists, still watching him with a hawklike gaze in case he tried anything again.</p><p>"Please, get off of me... I won't tell anyone, I promise. Just— Please, please don't hurt me."</p><p>Perú was fucking crushed. This man, the man he loved most, had lied to him these past few years. These years— Perú thought they were the best of his life, and that he was going to marry the man who made them so great. But no.</p><p>"And if you kill me, I know you won't be able to live with it. Don't do that to yourself."</p><p>"What makes you think I would hurt you?"</p><p>But, sure enough, America backed off. Just a few steps, but he'd backed off and let the smaller male have his space. He was going to trust him on his promise to not tell a soul, but the slightest wind of him telling someone and America would not be happy. He would trust him this once.</p><p>We'll see if it lasts.</p><p>Perú went fucking super Sonic speed for the couch.</p><p>"You can take the bedroom. I'm sleeping here tonight."</p><p>Yikes.</p><p>"Suit yourself."</p><p>Bigger yikes.</p><p>America only moved to go back up the stairs to the bedroom they used to share, not bothering to exchange another word with his partner, or what used to be him. Now he has a feeling that they'll never be that close again. As much as it hurt, it wasn't up to him.</p><p>The next few nights, Perú slept on the couch. Despite how emotionally exhausted he was, his body was restless. He tossed and turned like a rotisserie chicken on a pole above a fire, unable to get any shut-eye. On the rare occasion he got any sleep, his rest was plagued by vivid nightmares. Nightmares about America doing terrible, unspeakable things to him. What would happen if Perú reported it? He'd be a dead man. Even worse, what would happen if he didn't? The brute would go on to kill someone else. And then another after that. And then another.</p><p>The next few nights, America obviously slept in the bed they used to share. Now he just calls it his bed. He doesn't like it at all, and sometimes he wishes that he was forced to take the couch instead, because laying there while remembering all their fond memories together was a horrid thing. It ate away at his insides and left him an aching, empty man. He wasn't even the slightest bit human anymore. He was a dead man walking, a hungry corpse with the gift — curse, actually, — of walking. Of feeling. Of thinking.</p><p>Of remembering.</p><p>And where did all this pain originate from? Perú's goddamn friend. She told him. She told him everything, and she ruined it all. That bitch will fucking pay.</p><p>One night, Perú had enough. He marched up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He then approached the bedroom door. Without knocking, he turned the knob and entered the room.</p><p>Deep breaths, Perú. Deep breaths.</p><p>He climbed into bed with the man he feared the most.</p><p>"Buenas noches," he said, like he used to say to America every night, only this time his voice was shaking like a leaf barely clinging onto a branch in the wind. Then he turned away from Ame and quickly drifted off into a light, dreamless sleep.</p><p>A low, deep sigh rushed from the lungs of the brute, whose back faced away from the much smaller boy and whose body was lying on the side of the bed that was furthest from the door. It was pretty clear that he was faking sleep. His breaths were occasionally uneven and he moved like he wanted to roll over.</p><p>America didn't say anything to him. If he did, he would probably make him upset. Instead, he simply ignored him and didn't move from his side of the bed, letting Perú climb in under the covers, if he'd like.</p><p>He could tell that Perú was scared. He wasn't going to push anything or try anything, because that would only make it worse. Maybe he would die in his sleep time. It would be preferable.</p><p>Perú woke up repeatedly throughout the night to check if he hadn't been eaten alive yet, as you do when you live with a cannibalistic murderer.</p><p>Luckily, his limbs were all still attached to his body by the time his alarm went off. He slapped the off button on the screech machine, then dared to look over at America. Instantly regretting it, he shot out of bed and darted out of the room without even changing clothes.</p><p>America wasn't too sure about what Perú was worried about, since he had never made a single move that would suggest that he would try to eat him. But whatever. He can't change how Perú feels. He can only change how he himself acts.</p><p>It was morning when he heard the horrid noise of an alarm, waking him up and supposedly Perú up with the terrible noise. America just growled and put his pillow over his head, not bothering to listen to Perú have a panic attack and run away.</p><p>Perú raced into the living room, suddenly fully engulfed in terror. His heart rate picked up, thumping so wildly he could hear it roaring in his ears. His breaths were short and shallow, and his thoughts raced through his mind at breakneck speed. He needed some fresh air.</p><p>Unwilling to step outside into the chilly early morning air, he opened a window and took in a deep huff before slowly letting out. The air was wet— It had rained all night last night, as if the Heavens were crying for the couple held together by nothing but a string. It was like the Heavens were sorry. Perú hoped they were. (haha reference)</p><p>America, like usual, was wallowing in a pit of emptiness. Ever since Perú went out with that bitch of a friend, everything he ever lived for was taken from him. It was ripped from his hands, even when he had taken so many precautions and treated Perú so gently, it still ended up like this. With him hating himself and Perú hating him too. Hating would be better than fearing, because that's really what Perú felt.</p><p>America didn't even want to get up. He felt like he didn't have the energy, emotionally or physically. He hadn't been eating right for his body size, mostly because he ate to distract himself. He never ate too much, though. Cause he was usually drinking along with it.</p><p>Perú stood at the window for a while, taking in each deep breath with a tremble. He wouldn't tell. If he truly loved America, he would keep his promise. But was America even worth loving? He was a monster— A beast with an unquenchable thirst for blood.</p><p>No, he wouldn't think about his lover like that. He had every right to be afraid, but that didn't mean he had to hate him. Hating him wouldn't make him suck any less, so he may as well love.</p><p>But how could he love a monster?</p><p>America wanted to rip that bitch named Costa Rica into two pieces. No. Eight pieces. He wanted to shred her into unrecognizable pieces of flesh and stains of blood to the point where the police can't even figure out who she is. He wants her to feel his pain and to understand what the hell she ruined for him.</p><p>But yet, he didn't get up. He didn't move from his spot, he didn't try to roll over, he didn't do anything. He just laid there, empty. Without a purpose. Hollow and tired, and hungry too. That didn't matter, he'd eat later. It wasn't worth confronting Perú.</p><p>Perú then made his way to the kitchen. He reached into the fridge, pondered for a moment, then pulled out two eggs. He turned around to rummage through a cabinet to grab a bowl. He set the bowl on the counter with a gentle thunk! and then cracked both eggs into it.</p><p>Perú rummaged through the cabinet again, hoping to whatever God there was that he wasn't making too much noise, and found a pot. He filled it with water from the kitchen sink, set it on the stove, and brought the water to a boil. As it reached boiling point, he stirred it with a wooden spoon and dropped the eggs in.</p><p>Once they finished cooking, which didn't take long, he scooped them up and plopped them onto a plate. Voila! Poached eggs.</p><p>Now the sound of cooking food was taunting him. He knew that Perú was making it, since he was the only other one in the house, but if he went out there he would only spook him. So in all reality, he had to just wait until Perú was gone, and then he could go get himself something to eat.</p><p>The universe was toying with him. Teasing him. He hated it. He wanted to just scream and destroy everything, but he knew he couldn't. He was only partly human, after all. The rest of him was just lost in time to whatever made him a flesh-eating beast.</p><p>Perú took the plate with both shaking hands, fearing that if he held it in only one he'd drop it. He turned to face the stairs. Up. Just go up. You don't even have to say anything to him, Perú.</p><p>Up the steps he went, one by one, each one harder to climb than the last. By the time he got to the door he had to have been a living vibrator, shaking so violently the plate rattled in his hands. He knocked three times, opened the door, then entered.</p><p>Perú set the plate on the nightstand.</p><p>America faced away from where Perú could see him, but it didn't mean that he didn't know it was him. He could hear the doorknob shaking as he tried to open the door, and he could hear his stuttered and shaky breaths.</p><p>Yep. Definitely Perú.</p><p>He let him settle into bed, silent and unmoving, before getting up from the bed and leaving the boy to sleep in the bed by himself.</p><p>Meanwhile, America descended the stairs, moving to go sleep on the couch instead.</p><p>Perú just laid there for a moment in shock. Did he just— Oh, my fucking God. Perú wanted better than this. He wanted better than a cannibalistic murderer who ignored him. He wanted— no, deserved —so many steps up from this. Perú picked up the pillow, buried his face in it, then bawled himself back to sleep.</p><p>America flopped onto the couch and rested his head on one of the pillows. He was sick of the pain but he knew that the more he hurt Perú, the worse it would get.</p><p>Maybe he should just fucking die.</p><p>No, that's the coward's way out. He should just leave. He was only causing him pain, anyway.</p><p>What if he did leave?</p><p>Perú awoke sometime past ten am, three hours later than he usually slept. His face was so flushed and raw from sobbing so violently the previous night that it burned to blink and move his mouth. He grumbled, clambering out of bed.</p><p>The house was quiet. It normally was quiet after that fateful day, after the day that changed them both, for the worse. But this kind of quiet was different. It was a heavy quiet. A terrible, anxious quiet. Like something was about to happen.</p><p>And yet, America was nowhere to be seen. At all. It was like he had suddenly vanished. There was no trace of that disgusting killer. No photo on the wall, no stain of blood on the carpet, no clothes left behind, no pictures on the fridge.. Nothing.</p><p>It was like he never existed.</p><p>Perú's eyes filled with tears as he gazed upon the empty home. It was far too silent, too empty.</p><p>It was then when he realized he needed America. He may be a murderer, but he was all he had. Right away, Perú whipped out his phone, dialed America's number and brought it to his right ear.</p><p>One thing America had foolishly forgotten to do was to erase his contact from Perú's phone. There was one last trace of himself with Perú, and he had forgotten about it. He thought that he might have deleted it himself during the days that they had lived together after the... incident.</p><p>The phone rang and rang. It rang and rang and rang until it was on its last ring, and then America had finally picked up.</p><p>"Hello?" His tired, empty voice answered, rough from either sleep or the lack of talking, and almost completely devoid of emotion.</p><p>"Ame—" Perú gulped. "I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. "</p><p>America, far away from Perú and whiskey glass in hand, froze. How did he not see who was calling him? How did he not know? Goddamnit. He forgot to erase the contact. Fuck. Shit. Dammit.</p><p>America drew in a shuddered breath.</p><p>"No, no, I'm sorry." He apologized, taking a sip of the alcohol. "I made you feel unsafe in your own home, none of this is your fault."</p><p>"Please! America, I need you. I need you in my life. I'm nothing without you!"</p><p>Then came the waterworks. Perú pulled the phone away from his face, not wanting America to hear his sobbing. He cupped a hand over his mouth to stifle his pitiful cries.</p><p>"There is no me without you!"</p><p>"Perú, please," America begged, his voice thick as he set himself down on a bar stool and held the phone close to him. He wanted Perú to get away from him, because he knew so well that he couldn't keep himself away from him. He was a predator, and he would always follow his prey, no matter how much he loved them.</p><p>America's chest tightened at the sound of his sobs, even if they were muffled. He curled into himself a little, as if trying to make himself feel like he was holding his small boyfriend and hiding him from the world. He wanted to take him into his arms and hold him so tight, but he knew for a fact that Perú would struggle and beg for him to let go. And every time, he would let him go. Some predator he was.</p><p>"I.. Perú, baby," America begged. "Please.. just.. think it over. I don't want to scare you anymore, please."</p><p>"No, America. I'm not thinking it over. Please, come back. I can't lose you. You're everything I have— Had. Have? I don't know."</p><p>Perú couldn't stand the idea of being alone after the time he'd spent with his boyf— Ex-boyfriend? What was he to America anymore?</p><p>"I'll send you my apartment number, but please, for the love of God, think it over." America's chest ached. His whole being hummed with the need to wrap himself around Perú and to make sure he felt safe. He wanted to curl around him and to hold him tight and never let go. He wanted to keep him safe and he wanted to protect him from everything, even himself. But he couldn't do that.</p><p>He wondered how Perú wasn't terrified of his teeth when they had met all those years back. He wondered if he cared, or if he was worried about being cut on them. It never happened, since America was far too gentle and careful with him for it to really ever happen, but the thought still stands. "I'm not what you think I am, Perú. Please."</p><p>"I know. You're a murderer. You're fucked up. I hate it. But I can't leave you, I can't. I need you."</p><p>It pained Perú to say— But if it hurt him to say, he couldn't imagine how much it must've hurt for America to hear.</p><p>And it sure as hell hurt America to hear. He hated hearing it, he hated it with his whole being. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad.</p><p>"Rosslyn Road, Apartment Nine, second floor." America finally caved. As much as he didn't want to, as much as he tried to keep Perú safe, he failed.</p><p>He tried, and he failed.</p><p>"Rosslyn Road, apartment nine, second floor— You're living with your brother? Isn't that where Canada lives?" Perú recognized the address right away. He raised his hand to chew on his finger, then bit down. Hard. With a gasp, he dropped the phone onto the counter. Fuck— He picked it up again with the hand he didn't bite.</p><p>"Where he used to live. He moved in with Ukraine." America sighed through the phone, almost hugging the damned thing close to himself. He wanted to wrap his arms around Perú's tiny body, he wanted to keep him close and prevent anything bad from getting him. He had to keep him close. He had to. He felt a jolt of nervousness when he heard Perú gasp through the phone.</p><p>Perú shook out his bit hand, hissing at the dull ache. At least it wasn't Ame who bit him, imagine those teeth— No, he wasn't going to think about that. America's teeth were beautiful. There was nothing to be afraid of.</p><p>"Oh, I forgot."</p><p>"Mhm." America took another sip of his whiskey. "Come by when you feel ready, if you want. Take your time."</p><p>America poured more of the alcohol into the glass, mostly because he noticed how it was getting low. It's a little sad how whiskey can run out so easily. But oh well, time to get his mask ready. Perú won't be happy to see his teeth.</p><p>"Did you take the bus? I noticed the truck is still here. Please don't tell me you walked."</p><p>"I'm not gonna confirm nor deny that."</p><p>He walked.</p><p>Perú frowned. "Never do that again."</p><p>America sighed through the speaker, not bothering to try and retaliate and only agreeing with him. He doubted Perú would be this bold when they happened to be face to face. "Very well."</p><p>"...Thank you," Perú sighed before taking the keys off the command hook on the wall. "I'm on my way."</p><p>With that, Perú hung up and made his way to the truck.</p><p>"Be careful." America told him through the phone, setting it aside upon hearing that Perú had hung up. America then just sank into his chair sadly, grabbing his glass and drinking a few heavy gulps.</p><hr/><p>Perú raised his fist to knock on the door, only to hesitate.</p><p>There was no doubt about it— He was scared. He was entering the cave of the beast, the home of the man he had grown to fear and tear himself apart over.</p><p>Without any further thought, he gave the door three gentle knocks.</p><p>At first, there was nothing from the male that lived inside of the makeshift monster's den, not a sound or word. Then, faintly, there was the sound of footsteps that approached closer.</p><p>Then the door swung open, albeit somewhat slowly.</p><p>Standing there in the doorway was the unmistakable figure of America, always too tall for the doorframe, and built like a fucking wall. Over the lower half of his face was a black cloth mask, which covered up his mouth and obscured his teeth from view, thankfully.</p><p>He didn't say a word, only letting Perú inside.</p><p>Perú slowly slunk into the apartment, watching America closely over his shoulder. His hand stayed inside his coat pocket, presumably to hold onto his means of self-defense— still his pocket knife.</p><p>America closed the door behind him gingerly, not wanting to get a noise complaint from the asshole neighbors who didn't get the concept of not being able to control it. He simply made his way back to the bar, sitting down on one of the stools and sneaking a sip from his whiskey glass while he let Perú get comfortable. As desperate as he had sounded over the phone, he was still quite cautious and nervous around him. He wasn't surprised.</p><p>Perú heaved a sigh, shutting his eyes for a brief moment before flickering them open to look at America.</p><p>"Can... Can we talk this out? Without me breaking down?"</p><p>America motioned for him to take a seat, setting down his whiskey glass on the counter and placing his elbows on his knees. He leaned downward to be closer to Perú's height, his deep ocean blue eyes locking onto the smaller male but quickly averting away to prevent discomfort.</p><p>Perú recoiled into himself upon making eye contact with America. His hold around the knife tightened to an iron grip as he prepared himself to reel his arm back and bring it back forward in a stabbing motion.</p><p>But the need never came. America looked away.</p><p>Perú took a seat.</p><p>America saw him tense. He had an idea of what was in that pocket and he didn't like the idea in any way. He could tell that Perú was terrified of him and yet he couldn't help but feel like he should back away from him and not try to make contact. He wouldn't help a thing, anyways. He was only there because Perú still needed him.</p><p>He exhaled through his nose slowly, intertwining his fingers as he kept his gaze away from Perú.</p><p>"Well," He hummed. "Go ahead."</p><p>"I need you, America. You're all I have..." Perú began. "And as much as it's tearing me apart, I need you in my life. The only thing that scares me more than being in your presence is losing you."</p><p>"And yet, you still keep that knife with you." America muttered, leaning back and away from him as a means to make himself look bigger, but also to hide himself away. To create space. He reached for his whiskey glass and moved up his mask a little to take a quick sip before covering his face again.</p><p>"Reconsider." America stated aloud. "I'm not a good option."</p><p>"America."</p><p>Perú let go of the pocket knife, a difficult move, considering the state of utter terror he was in.</p><p>"Is it not clear? You're all I have. I've gotten a taste of what it's like to be loved right and now, I can't let go. I feel like a tick clinging to your skin, a leech draining you and leaving you devoid of all that makes you human. I can't let go. I never will."</p><p>America raised an eyebrow at him calling his name, watching curiously as he removed his hand from his pocket and seemed to have let go of the knife. Damn. He heard him. Even with those endearing words that made him long to embrace Perú, he knew better.</p><p>"I'd rather leave than have the one person who is supposed to trust me carry around a knife because they feel unsafe around me."</p><p>"Why are you so offended by my fear? I have every... Every right to be afraid of you. Remember when you threatened to kill me if I kept pressing?"</p><p>"Do you remember when I actually tried to kill you?" America fired back, his eyes narrowing as he curled his lip beneath the mask. "Do you remember when I had actually intended to harm you, and not just some empty bluff?"</p><p>"You sure as hell seemed to have meant it when you held me down on the ground when I had threatened to tell on you for murdering people. Fucking— Shit. I'm sorry. Let's try this again."</p><p>Perú took a deep breath.</p><p>"Do you still love me?"</p><p>America huffed, his hopeless expression beginning to change into an infuriated scowl as he breathed in slowly and averted his gaze away. No, don't keep eye contact. Don't look at him. Don't.</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"Then why do you act like you hate me?"</p><p>If Perú sounded heartbroken, it was because he was.</p><p>The heartbreak in his voice seemed to shatter America's own heart as he willed himself to hold down tears.</p><p>"To protect you."</p><p>"...Leave it to me to protect myself. You're hurting me, you're hurting me so bad. I've just about fucking had it."</p><p>Perú's eyes seemed to glisten in the painfully bright light of the kitchenette. After a moment of stagnant silence, the tears came dripping down like someone had turned on a faucet inside Perú.</p><p>"And I don't want to hurt you. But it seems like any time I try to convey that, you seem to think that I'll kill you." America tried his best to not look Perú in the eyes. He couldn't. Once he saw that heartbroken look and that emptiness, he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He inhaled slowly through the mask.</p><p>"You always seem to think that I'll hurt you, and when I leave to give you space, you keep running after me."</p><p>Perú leaned across the table to take the man's hand. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't look at you the same now that I know what I know. I don't— I don't know if we can ever have what we had. I want to, but..."</p><p>He looked up at America, desperately trying to make eye contact.</p><p>America shook his head, but he let Perú take his hand. He didn't bother to react too much, barely moving his hand in Perú's much smaller, much more delicate hands. How could he hold them so trustingly and delicately, especially when they were the same ones he used to crush the life out of others? Tears glinted in his eyes as he tried his best to not look into Perú's eyes. He couldn't scare him like that.</p><p>"America. America, please, look at me."</p><p>"I can't." America choked out, pitiful and strained. "I can't."</p><p>Perú leaned over even further, dropping America's hand in favor of cupping America's cheek instead. A harsh, violent sob threatened to wrack his small body and send him back into his seat, but he bit it back.</p><p>America inhaled slowly, screwing his eyes closed as he did so in a effort to keep the tears down. He felt like he was breaking at the seams. "I can't look at you, I'll only end up making you scared."</p><p>With that, Perú let go. He scooted off his seat and rushed around the table to take the big man into his arms. Perú shook like a motherfucker as he did it, but nothing would settle in between him and his lover. Not now, not when America was on the verge of tears.</p><p>America watched him nervously, afraid of what he would do, but also waiting to see what would happen. He grew nervous as Perú got closer and closer to him, freezing up when he had clambered onto the bar stool to envelop America into a hug. And yet, he could still feel him shaking like a leaf in the wind.</p><p>He felt like a wolf trying to tell a rabbit that he had caught to run free. He'd been gentle with carrying it, but the thing got attached.</p><p>America finally broke, the tears in his eyes spilling over as he held onto Perú with a loose hold but let out a heartbreaking sob that shattered his whole being. He felt weak and horrible.</p><p>"It's okay to cry in front of me," was all Perú whispered to him, wrapping his arms tight around his boyfriend. He held the man close, because now, it was America's turn to be three. America was forty five, but he was also forty four, forty three, and so on— But right now, he needed to be three. And that was more than okay.</p><p>America let loose another sob as he pulled Perú closer to himself, slightly curling around him as he let loose and sobbed up a storm into his small boyfriend. Tears poured down his face and stained his mask, but yet he couldn't find it within himself to care.</p><p>Didn't last long, of course, because then he began to try and swallow and choke down those pathetic sobs. He felt like a pussy. He's 45, he shouldn't be crying. He shouldn't be this weak. He's a fucking man, not a goddamn boy. And even then, boys don't cry.</p><p>Perú held the country, rubbing soothing circles into his back. He raised a brow at America's sudden silence.</p><p>"Ame. If I'm allowed to cry in front of you, then you can cry in front of me."</p><p>After a bit of choking down and holding back, he finally managed to get himself into some sort of order. The American melted into those soothing touches on his back, some of the tension in his body melting away as he leaned onto Perú and hugged him tighter.</p><p>"I'm fine." America whined, his voice still strained and pain stricken.</p><p>"You're not fine, America. I've known you for a third of my life. I can tell when you're not fine."</p><p>Perú continued the gentle circular rubbing motions, humming softly to him. He shut his eyes, then with a moment of hesitation, pressed a kiss to America's forehead.</p><p>America couldn't argue with that. He was right. He knew he was right and he didn't want to admit it, due to the immense pain it would bring. He was about to protest with his meek and heavy voice, until he felt a pair of soft lips press to his forehead.</p><p>America froze, confused as to where that bravery came from.</p><p>"I love you," was all Perú said. "I love you, I love you, I love you."</p><p>Perú showered America in little kisses all over his face. He was trembling so violently and his head buzzed with a dizziness he knew would knock him over if he didn't step away from America, but he didn't stop.</p><p>America didn't complain, only sitting still and allowing for the other to shower him in endless kisses and to coat him in a thin layer of love. He just sniffled and let him, trying not to break. That hurt a whole fuckton, but he loved the feeling. Now he just had to wait until Perú spooked himself again.</p><p>"You're allowed to cry, it is perfectly okay. You're allowed to cry, Ame."</p><p>"No, No," America gulped once more, choking down the sobs that threatened to break him. "I'm fine. I'm fine."</p><p>"You're not fine. And that's okay. It's okay to not be okay."</p><p>"No, it's not." America whimpered. "It's not, and you know it's not."</p><p>"I'd rather you be silent after you've coped with your feelings, not after you've suppressed them."</p><p>"You'd rather that I wear a mask over my mouth rather than risk me biting you, you mean?" America bitterly hissed, his voice that sounded like he had recently been crying took the sting off of it.</p><p>"Shut up and let me love you," Perú proceeded to resume showering him with little pecks.</p><p>America made a noise in the back of his throat, but leaning into the affection nonetheless. Even beneath those layers of coldness and a normal facade, he was still an affection starved baby with so many problems and trauma that nobody had uncovered before. He was hurt, and still hurting. He wasn't done licking his wounds, but he was more than willing to make others bear mortal wounds that would make em bleed out.</p><p>"I am so in love with you, you know that?"</p><p>"I'm aware." He chuckled. "You really drove your ass out here to confront me and you clambered your way onto my lap."</p><p>"Confront?"</p><p>"You wanted to talk. You wanted to face your fears."</p><p>"Because I love you."</p><p>"I know." America squeezed him a little tighter, loosening him up after a moment. "I love you too."</p><p>Perú tensed. He took a deep, shaky breath, then relaxed.</p><p>America took note of his tenseness. Ah. So no squeezing then. Alright. Instead, he just loosened his hold, hoping with some blind force that he would grow more comfortable.</p><p>Perú eventually pulled away, for the fear became too much. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."</p><p>America shook his head, smiling beneath the mask as he slipped down a little for him to sip his whiskey. "Don't be."</p><p>Perú backed away upon seeing his teeth. The fucking teeth. A shiver went down his spine to his knees.</p><p>Ah, damnit. The teeth. The fucking teeth. America cursed himself mentally, slipping the mask back up his face and slouching over the bar again, whiskey glass still in hand. He didn't say a word more to Perú. He'd pushed hard enough.</p><p>Perú gulped. He raised a shaking hand to tuck a strand of hair into his hat. "Can... Can you come back? Back home?"</p><p>"For the night." America responded, his voice empty but heavy, like he was tired or regretful.</p><p>"No, forever?"</p><p>"I don't want you to feel unsafe in your own home." The older male fussed with his whiskey glass. "Just for the night. We'll see about later, however."</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"I don't believe I left it up for debate. Only for the night."</p><p>"America—"</p><p>"Only. For. The. Night." America reinstated, more firm this time.</p><p>"No!"</p><p>"Perú, I swear to God,"</p><p>"Swear you'll what? Eat me?"</p><p>"No, Perú, don't go there."</p><p>"Then stay with me."</p><p>"I can't. Perú, you know why I can't."</p><p>"I need you!" Perú broke down again. His body trembled violently. He reached for America's hand.</p><p>America took his hand, gently holding it and tugging him a little closer. "I know, but please, please, just don't.."</p><p>"You want me to stop needing you? America... That's impossible."</p><p>"No, I mean stop hurting yourself. You beg me to not let you go after you stagger away from me for talking to you."</p><p>"I'm not— I'm not hurting myself. I'm stuck in this cycle. But I'll get it out of it if you let me get used to you."</p><p>"You can try. I'll sit still, but I can't guarantee a thing."</p><p>"What does that mean?"</p><p>"Take it how you want. But you get to decide where to start."</p><p>"America. I'm begging you. Please, stay at home. I need to get used to you," Perú begged and pleaded with him. He squeezed America's hand so tight he thought it would pop.</p><p>"You need to take it slow, Perú. You know damn well that you can't try to get used to all of me." America squeezed his hand in return, but not with as much bone crushing force.</p><p>"No, I want all of you. Now."</p><p>"Jesus, take me to dinner first."</p><p>"Get your mind out of the gutter!" Perú suddenly laughed, bringing America's hand to his chest. He held it tightly and close, as if he were afraid America would recoil away.</p><p>"Meh, I'd prefer it be in the gutter than be in whatever it was a few minutes ago." America opened his hand a little more, like he was pressing his hand to Perú's chest. He didn't recoil, surprisingly. He was just letting Perú have his fun. "Besides, am I not allowed to love my boyfriend?"</p><p>"You don't have to have sex to be in love, America," Perú hummed, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his shaking hand. He was still trembling, but he wasn't running away again anytime soon.</p><p>"I know, but that kind of love is special. It shows trust and vulnerability." America reached up to gently move Perú's hand away and to cup the side of his face. Sure, his palms were calloused and rough from the life he led before Perú knew him, but his touches were softer than silk, light as butterfly wings. "Of course, I'd rather have sex with someone I love rather than with some random person. Just not what I'm into."</p><p>Perú flinched, but then leaned into his tender touch. He shut his eyes, only to open them again. He loved America, but he didn't trust him enough to keep his eyes shut around him just yet. "...How did our conversation go from me being terrified of you— To sex?"</p><p>"Ask yourself. You made the statement." America chuckled, ignoring that little tell of his nervousness. He just had to let him do his thing and get used to him.</p><p>"You're the one who made it sexual!"</p><p>"Am I, though?"</p><p>"How much have you had to drink tonight?" Perú raised a brow.</p><p>"Eh, I dunno." America shrugged. "I'm not exactly a lightweight, Perú. Don't expect me to get drunk on one bottle."</p><p>"Big boy," was all Perú said.</p><p>"Get on your knees and beg, baby boy." Was all America said in retaliation, knowing for sure he would win. He was joking.</p><p>Perú flushed red. "I'm— Uh! Uhm... Nah, I'm good!"</p><p>"I thought so." America chuckled, deep but soft and sweet.</p><p>"Wait! How did you— You always manage to cheer me up," Perú gushed. "How is it possible for someone to be so perfect?"</p><p>"It's not." He brushed his thumb over Perú's cheekbone, slowly and gently. "I just happen to love you a whole lot."</p><p>Perú shuffled a little closer. "I love you too, Ame."</p><p>The big brute practically melted at that. The warmth and love in his words made his insides jelly, and he had almost forgotten what it felt like. He wanted to pull him closer and coat him in kisses, to hold him tight and keep him there forever and ever. But yet, he knew he couldn't.</p><p>"I love you more."</p><p>"I love you most!" Perú then pried America's fingers off his face and backed away. "Sorry, too much. Too much. I need to sit down—"</p><p>America looked to him with worried eyes.</p><p>"Be careful, please." America begged him, keeping a careful eye on him despite wanting to drink his whiskey.</p><p>Perú scrambled back into his seat like lightning. He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his head vigorously as if to dismiss the thoughts of America tearing people apart with those teeth.</p><p>America could see him panicking. He was far from a fool. A monster, yes, a cannibal, yes, but a fool? Never. Perú was scared of something about him. If it was anything he knew, he was scared of his teeth. But yet, he played dumb.</p><p>"You okay?"</p><p>Perú gulped. "...Yeah. Just— Don't. Don't do anything. I need a moment."</p><p>"...Okay." America did as he was asked, sitting still and watching Perú with cautious but also very gentle eyes. He wanted him to be okay.</p><p>Perú took a few deep, shaky breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In for four seconds, hold for four seconds, out for four seconds.</p><p>While Perú was doing his breathing exercises, America contemplated leaving to file down his teeth. Maybe then he wouldn't be as threatening, or nearly as scary. He'd be normal. He'd be okay. But no, the last time he tried he broke the file.</p><p>Eventually, Perú calmed himself enough to speak to America again.</p><p>"C... Come back home? Please?"</p><p>This again.</p><p>America sighed.</p><p>"Fine."</p><hr/><p>The door slammed shut with a thunderous bang.</p><p>Perú shed his coat, chucked it onto the recliner instead of the coat rack, then stormed into the kitchen.</p><p>Costa was right. He hated it, but she was right. He had to get the wolf before it got him.</p><p>America, reclined comfortably in the loveseat, jumped suddenly at the slamming of the door, pausing his episode of Grey's Anatomy and looking over nervously.</p><p>Perú didn't look too happy. He didn't know if he should even call his name or not, he looked so pissed. America could only shake his head and attempt to ignore him, unpausing his show.</p><p>Perú propped himself up against the counter, counting his breaths to calm down. This too shall pass, this too shall pass, he repeated in his head.</p><p>Fuck. No, Costa was right. It had to be done.</p><p>Perú slipped a hand into the back pocket of his pants, flipped open the pocket knife, then made his way back into the kitchen. He crept up behind his lover, knife in hand. Then, with a swift, fluid swing of his arm, he brought the blade down onto America, aiming for his neck.</p><p>Unfortunately for the nervous and lightly bent-out-of-shape Peruvian, he had missed and hit the cushion right next to the brute's neck. The springs in the couch gave a metallic noise upon being hit so suddenly, the fabric of the loveseat giving way easily to the sharpened blade.</p><p>The American brute flinched, looking to the side to notice a fucking knife embedded into the cushion of the couch, too close to his neck for comfort. His catlike eyes widened, those icy blue irises suddenly becoming cold and empty. That emptiness was filled with a different, more violent emotion soon enough.</p><p>"What the fuck was that?" America snarled, his lip curling to reveal his teeth, unfortunately hidden by the mask.</p><p>"I... I— Uhm..." Perú backed away from the loveseat, hands in the air in front of him. He then turned and scrambled down the hall, where he turned into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. It locked with a click.</p><p>America wasn't surprised that Perú backed away without an explanation. He simply waited until his hand was off of the knife's black plastic handle, grabbing the weapon and ripping it from the cushion of the loveseat. This.. oh, this certainly would not fly.</p><p>Perú's hurried footsteps towards the bathroom only begged America to chase after him. Anger, vengefulness, and something close to predatory glee flared in his chest as he moved the knife to his dominant hand and followed Perú's path towards the bathroom.</p><p>Shame that he locked it. It would only make it worse for himself.</p><p>In about as nice of a voice as America could manage, he spoke, "Unlock the door, Perú." His voice nearly shook, but not for the reason one may think.</p><p>"I'm sorry!" Perú wailed from inside the bathroom. He was squatting on top of the toilet lid, knees tucked close to his chest and arms wrapped tight around himself.</p><p>Regret. Big fucking regret.</p><p>"America! Please, please don't hurt me!"</p><p>"Just.. unlock the door." America's voice quivered more as he struggled to hold himself together. He placed his empty fist against the door to the bathroom, leaning his weight against it. "We can talk it out, just open the door."</p><p>Perú sniffled. Shuffling could be heard from inside the bathroom, before the door unlocked with another click. Perú peeked his little head out the door to peer at the brute.</p><p>"Ame?"</p><p>Remember when I'd said that America did his best to stay even and calm? Throw that out the fucking window.</p><p>Almost immediately, the brute grabbed ahold of the door, pushing it open slowly with nothing but brute strength. His blue eyes gleamed maliciously, his mouth covered by a black cloth mask but still making him more intimidating than ever. He loomed over the much smaller male, casting a shadow onto him.</p><p>He hadn't made a move to hurt him yet. Not yet.</p><p>Perú shrieked, scrambling back to duck into the bathtub. He held out his hands in front of his face, both physically and mentally preparing himself to be eaten alive by the monster of a man in front of him.</p><p>America winced slightly at the shriek, the grating and horribly loud noise stirring up something inside of him. It was painful in the way that it sounded like nails on a chalkboard and made a shiver crawl up his spine, but spurred on something predatory and cruel within him. He wanted to dig his teeth into him and bite down. But he shook it off. No.</p><p>America closed the bathroom door with his foot behind him, slowly approaching the much smaller male and reaching out with his unoccupied hand to gently grasp Perú's hand. Those blue eyes stared deep into the other's, seemingly sympathetic and sweet. He looked almost.. sorry.</p><p>Until the blade of the knife was buried into Perú's side.</p><p>Perú's jaw drops in a silent scream and his gaze flickers up to meet America's. His eyes then glance down to the knife nestled in his side, back to America, and then his eyes roll back as he hits the floor.</p><p>America didn't bother to play nice. He let go of the knife completely as Perú fell to the floor, watching as the blood began to pool by his side.</p><p>He took the weapon by the handle and sliced it along the lower part of Perú's stomach, the blade of the knife slicing through his soft flesh with ease. Blood splattered the bathtub, painting it a tragic red color as the blood dripped from the knife's blade. Slowly, surely, he had begun to cut the boy open.</p><p>An hour of slicing, chewing, and hacking later, the bathtub's floor was coated in a layer of deep red blood, darkened from the exposure to oxygen. Perú, on the other hand, was pale. Empty. Devoid of blood. All of it had spilled onto the bottom of the tub.</p><p>America pushed himself up from his dead boyfriend's corpse, sighing lowly at the scene. His mouth, now missing the mask, was coated in blood. Pieces of gore and flesh matter stuck to the blood as well, even as if dropped down his neck and onto his shirt. His hands and half of his forearms had that same sticky substance on it, blood caked beneath his fingernails and flesh bits sticking to his hands.</p><p>He turned away from it, stumbling to the sink. Above it hung a mirror, shiny and polished and untouched. America lifted his eyes to meet his own in his reflection. However beautiful they may be, those ocean blue depths, he found no compassion within them. They gleamed with predatory drives like that of a wolf. Blood and gore stuck to his face and his neck, his teeth gleamed in the light. It all screamed one thing; predator.</p><p>America raised his fist and drove it into the mirror, shattering the reflection of himself and sending the reflective shards everywhere.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i would like yall to know that the original ended with America killing Peru sooner. It went like this:</p><p>"Im calling the police"</p><p>"Pardon?"</p><p>"I er uh,.,. I said Im taking out a lease"</p><p>"Bitch"</p><p>neck snapping noises.</p><p>Thats it, thats the original ending.</p><p>yes also let's pretend they have cell phones in the 1940s</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. Bad Bad Things (Dog Teeth 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: incest, murder, cannibalism, mentions of underage</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fast forward sixty years.</p><p>
  <span>Low, mumbling chatter danced around the room, filling up the space with a makeshift equivalent to white noise, or TV static. Warmly colored light shone down from the ceiling, but barely illuminated the area with its gentle rays. In other terms, it was dark, shadows casting down onto the people inside, talking, toasting, laughing, drinking... It hid many things about these people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this kind of darkness, they were mere lambs. So easy to pick off, and so easy to attack. Their tongues were loosened with the alcohol of their choice, burning their throats and muddling their senses to make them feel better. The collars of their shirts always seemed to be loose, unbuttoned. Like they were taking off the very bell that kept them safe. Foolish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>America tapped his fingers on the finished wood of the bar counter, going from his little finger to his index, over and over again. He was merely waiting for his Moscow Mule to be finished, but was half-listening to whatever story his colleague, South Korea, had to say. His tongue was loosened too, since this was happy hour for this bar and he decided that it would be a great way to get to know each other... Even though America knew him like that back of his hand. Don’t tell him that, though, he’ll freak out just a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea had himself propped up against the bar counter, shot glass full of soju in hand. He gave the spirit a gentle swirl in its glass, then raised it to his lips to down it with an audible gulp. Sweet like sugar. Well, mostly because there was a lot of added sugar. No, no, no. South Korea didn’t like his drinks strong, he liked them sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right away, he went back to babbling on about whatever girl he’d gotten himself attached to this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So then, she took me by the hand and told me she loved me like the stars love the moon! Whatever that means... It was sweet. Sweet like this soju!” South Korea laughed at his own joke. “Anyways, I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of the talking. How’s the special lady in your life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America’s own drink of choice was a fine whiskey. Expensive, golden, and mildly strong. That’s why he only had two glasses. He didn’t bother to lift up his mask to sip at it anymore, it wasn’t a problem he had to care about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The larger man’s idle finger-tapping was halted at the question of South Korea. Special lady? Who said he liked women? But yet, he knew that he’d mentioned that he had a partner to him at some point, he just couldn’t remember when. America held down a curse beneath his breath, scoffing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have one, Korea,” The older male raised his eyebrows at South, pulling down his mask to sip at his alcohol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Special man? Special human? Special object? Come on, knowing a stud like you, there’s gotta be somebody,” South Korea poured himself another shot of soju before downing it in a flash. “I don’t care if you’re gay. You can tell me anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea was a good man. Sure, he was over-the-top, cheesy, and had gone through more divorces than you could count on your fingers and toes, but he had good intentions. He didn’t care who you were, so long as you never crossed him. Even then, he couldn’t stay mad forever. He’d come crawling back on all fours as soon as his brother started bothering him again and he needed help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”My uh…” America started, his voice barely audible through the mask and over the hum of chatter in the busy bar. He tried to think of an explanation, one that wouldn’t give him away as what he was. He was in a public space, after all. He didn’t need to exactly scream that he had tendencies that would make South Korea retch, he’d spook the guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to have a special someone. His name was Perú,”  America began. ”I’m sure you’ve seen him around. He was the sweetest thing on the earth. Beautiful, bright eyes, the most trusting smile, and such a great hugger, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pang of agony raptured his chest as he spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I went to go get something from the store, and when I came back... I found him dead in the bathroom. With a knife from the kitchen in his hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh... Oh my God. I am so, so sorry to hear that,” South Korea gasped, dropping his shot glass onto the counter, abandoning it to bring his hand to his chest. “Yes, I knew Perú, albeit not very well. He used to work with my fourth ex-wife’s acquaintance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”It… was not a good day for me,” America hummed, taking a gulp of his drink of choice. ”I try to honor him the best I can, since he was such a wonderful man, but… It gets hard, y’know? Sometimes it’s too painful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He downed another gulp. The burn helped him distract himself from the flames of guilt within him. Those burned worse than the alcohol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>”You are the only person I can expect that kind of response from.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean by that, America?” South Korea tilted his head. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, though he was empathetic. What he didn’t have in smarts, he made up for in sensitivity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Buy the stuff he likes, frame pictures of him, think of all the funny things he said..” America trailed off. He could feel the pain now. Every single bit of it. Each time Perú would screech in terror or flinch away from him, every time he would sob and beg for him to come back, only to push him away out of fear. Thinking about it gave America a headache, a pounding and terrible one too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He appreciated the empathy from South Korea, however. It took away some of the pain in his chest, but not in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But uh...Yeah. That’s my tragic story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand how it feels to lose someone you love...” South Korea looked at him with a soft look in his eyes. “Though, I don’t have it as bad as you have it right now. I lost my brother to... I don’t know what took him. But he wasn’t always the way he is. Oh, my bad! I’m making this about myself. I didn’t mean to do that. Continue? If there’s more to say? If this conversation has reached a steady conclusion we can change topics or—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, don’t worry about it,” America chuckled, but made an effort to barely show his teeth. Nobody needed to know that the ram was a wolf. “It’s fine, there wasn’t much to say, anyways. I was just rambling, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulped down the rest of the whiskey, and motioned to the bartender for more. He was quite the heavyweight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It feels nice to know that someone understands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot to say. You were in a committed relationship that ended in tragedy. Now, that’s something I understand, first hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And boy, oh, boy. South Korea sure understood that. He was young, still in his early thirties, but he’d jumped from marriage to marriage like it was an Olympic sport. All seven of them ending in bitter divorce. This new broad he’d picked up was sure to stay, he hoped. But alas, he could only hope. South Korea didn’t understand why all the women he loved eventually grew to despise him. Maybe it was the fact he didn’t want to settle down and start a family like his partners did. Maybe he just wasn’t good enough. Maybe it was his spontaneity and impulsivity. God knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I know you’re a big guy who can take a lot of alcohol, but take it easy. You know, that shit just depresses you. Oh, excuse my language!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America chuckled, his lips pulling back just a smidge to reveal his teeth, but not too much of them. Like a light smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should be telling you that, Southie,” He dropped a small nickname, sipping his drink. ”You’re downing that shit like water in the desert. You sure you’re okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea’s face warmed at the nickname. “It’s forty proof! Barely anything. Besides, I can afford to get plastered. I fucking need it tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bah. I need it too, little boy. You sure you can drink enough of that to get piss drunk?” Now here he comes with the nicknames. Mostly just to egg South on, but also to see his reaction. ”Shit’s barely got any alcohol, it’s basically sugar water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea grabbed the bottle of soju off the counter, brought it to his mouth and began chugging away. Glug, glug, glug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America scoffed at his boldness, one eyebrow raising at him and his unusual boldness. South Korea certainly was a man who didn’t take shit seriously, but boy was he the life of the party. There was always a saying about it, but it isn’t a party without South Korea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy there, bucko. Didn’t say you had to drown yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea polished off the bottle lickety split. He slammed it back down onto the counter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He took a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I want to drown myself in alcohol, I’ll do it. I’m not the designated driver,” he cracked a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m not going to deal with a South Korea that’s mistaken me for his fifty-ninth wife in a row. But do whatever you want, Southie. Not like I can change your mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now America was toying with him. Egging him on. He purposefully dropped the nickname he gave him to continue to mess with him. He liked to toy with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fifty-ninth? What, I’ve got one marriage for every year you’ve lived on this miserable blue marble we call home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea knew America wasn’t fifty nine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Psssh, please, I wish I was alive that long. I would have had shit done a loooong time ago now,” South calling America old was a joke the two had running between them. America didn’t take any real offense, he just found it funny. “You know I’m forty-five, Southie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had what shit done?” South Korea reached for the bottle to pour himself another shot, only to frown when he remembered he chugged it all in an attempt to make the conversation more rich and fulfilling for America. “Shit... Should I get more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, y’know, paid off student loan debts quicker, done jury duty more than twice, met my niece, that kinda shit,” America chuckled at his disdained face. “If you wanna lose it tonight, go right ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, lose what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s up to your imagination.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mind? My new girlfriend? My virginity?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Like I said, that’s up to you. I doubt you even have your virginity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d... be surprised,” South Korea chuckled, looking down at his empty shot glass with pink dusting his otherwise pale cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ There is no way,” America exclaimed, a grin spreading onto his face as it slowly donned on him. He had to hold down a laugh, simply to save South’s ego and to not show his teeth. “You have no idea how hard it is not to laugh, oh my god—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up! I know! I’ve been married seven times and I’ve never had sex! So what?!” South Korea folded his arms across his chest. He frowned. “I just... It never felt like the right person. And I was always afraid my partner would poke holes in the condom. You know how all my relationships end. The girl always turns out to be a bitch. She comes into my life happy and as spry as a spring chicken, and I ruin her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Nothing of it! It’s fine to wait!” America chuckled as he waved it off, holding down a smile as he held his hand to the lower half of his face. Even then, those chuckles of his died slowly as he listened to what his colleague had to say. ”Maybe you’re either picking the wrong ones, or you’re just.. not into women. Personally, if you ask me, you seem to like the idea of women. You fall in love with what you have visualized in your head that you hope for them to be; in this case, you seem very hopeful that they won’t screw you over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you do have a point there. A trend I’ve noticed with my relationships is that they move super fast. I mean, seven marriages and I’m thirty three? Sheesh. I mean, with Diane— you remember her, right? Human woman, dark hair? —We got married three months after we met! But then she wanted to have a baby. And I just... I can’t tie myself down like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve only dated twice, and I’m forty-five! You’re moving way faster than me, that’s for sure.” America deadpanned, gulping down his drink. “Yep, I remember her. I think you cried on my jacket for two hours. They’re just looking for money. They see that you are good looking, and realize you’re sweeter than candy, and they see ya as easy prey. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to experiment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah... She was amazing. I think I’m still not over her. I mean— Cindy is great and all, I... Fuck. Maybe I should give up on humans. They’re so complicated. And maybe I should experiment with my sexuality a little bit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t hurt to,”  Ame reminded him with a raise of his eyebrows while he sipped his drink. “I’d say take a break from humans, but don’t give up. There are some who aren’t total pieces of shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never mind that America screwed some of his own soldiers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you... Thank you so much, America. You are wonderful. I am blessed to have met you. You’re like the light at the end of the tunnel for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America froze. No. No, no no no, don’t think about it. Don’t. Do NOT think about it. DO NOT. And yet, even while he screamed internally at himself to not think about it, all he could do was think about it. Perú. Oh god, Perú..No, no don’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>America forced a smile onto his face, albeit a nice one, as he nodded. ”You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea beamed up at him. “Any tips? Wait, no, I’ve already asked so much of you. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Porn. Always try out porn. And then try out male model magazines,” America was doing well at hiding it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea’s eyes widened. He flushed fire engine red. “I meant— Not necessarily the sex part. Hold on! What if my partner wants to have sex? Where does the dick go? In the other dick? Oh GOD—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god— the ass, in the ass—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up the pooper!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America snickered. ”Yes, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But... It’s so tight. Wouldn’t that hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea was clearly not well versed in the fine art of fucking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s true, but there’s a reason lube and fingers exist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm... Okay. That’s— That’s horrifying information. But cool. Good for you. Actually, that probably wouldn’t be too bad if you do it right. Fuck it! I’m gonna have sex with my brother!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“WAIT NO— DON’T—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s the only man I’ve ever loved! Who else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I don’t condone incest, nor does anybody else— do NOT fuck your brother!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve showered together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” America’s eyes widened. ”Okay, you need better standards, who knows what North may have contracted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”To be fair, we were both thirteen. It was before he... Changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah woah woah there, bucko, back the hell up. Thirteen? What the hell happened there—?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea waved over the bartender and quickly ordered another bottle of soju. As soon as the bartender walked out of earshot, he continued, pouring himself another shot before downing it. ”It was his idea! At first I was like, hell no. Gross. And what if mom found out? But then he promised that nobody else had to know. It would be our little secret. So...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America eyed his whiskey with some sort of disgust in his eye. Still, he took another gulp of it while South Korea got his alcohol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”That’s.. manipulative and gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I regret it... But I don’t. You feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I don’t. He’s literally got you by a string, South. You’ve got some problems that you need help with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said he’d invade me and then kill me if I told anyone. So don’t let this get out? Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Invade my ass. He’s a fucking third world country with some missiles. That’s it. I’m gonna fucking beat his ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Please, I love him! And I don’t want him to hurt me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”You don’t love him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea teared up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”You’re scared of him. You’re scared of what will happen next when you don’t have him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea wiped his bleary eyes with the back of his hand. “Ame... Please. He’s gonna kill me if you confront him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”He’ll have to kill me first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea started bawling. “Please! Don’t...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”South, listen to me. He’s exploiting you and trying to hurt you. His threats are empty and are not going to do a thing. At least.. not if I can help it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shut his eyes, taking in deep, long breaths. He wrapped his arms around himself, gently rocking back and forth on the barstool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America sighed. Looking at the helpless, manipulated man next to him, rocking and hugging himself on the barstool, reminded him of Perú. Scared, alone, and seated next to the one man he feared the most, desperately trying to seek affection from him in an attempt to feel normal again. It made his chest ache. But.. this reminder.. it drove him insane. He hated it. He hated it so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>”If it helps, I can stay over tonight while I help you file a restraining order.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do that to somebody I love...” South Korea sniffled. He picked up the napkin underneath the bottle of soju and blew his nose into it. He then wadded the used napkin up and stuffed it into the pocket of his slacks. “...Okay. Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure.” America firmly reinstated. He didn’t bother with trying to tell South that he didn’t actually love him. He needed a lot more than America could give him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As America took a sip of his whiskey, he hoped to god that the burn in his throat would drown out the ache in his chest.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>South Korea was absolutely hammered. He clung onto America’s arm, groaning and murmuring about Diane and how he wished he had made sweet love to her when she still loved him so that she would stay. They were outside the bar, trying to flag down a cab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America’s arm was looped in South’s, holding him close and upright until they had a cab to haul them out of this hellhole of a bar. While South Korea was piss drunk and barely able to stand while making vulgar remarks about his ex-wife, America’s posture was straight and collected, his back rigid. He didn’t bother to try and console him at the moment, he just had to get him home and figure out where his damn brother lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While in the cab, South Korea threw up out the window, told the driver he smelled like “a fish left out in the hot sun in the summer on a school blacktop right next to a dumpster filled with dog shit”, then passed out with his head on America’s shoulder. Charming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America could only sigh. “He’s drunk, forgive him.” He voiced, sliding the driver an extra hundred dollar bill for his troubles. Until then, he kept South Korea still until he passed out and got home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cab rolled to a halt in South Korea’s driveway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea’s home was a little studio a little ways downtown. His residence wasn’t too far from the workplace, but there was a distinct difference between this side of town and America’s home. It was most definitely not the most lavish place to live.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing lowly, America unbuckled himself and South Korea from the cab, waving goodbye to the driver as he pulled the other male out from the vehicle and slung him over his shoulder. He heaved a sigh, hoping South Korea wouldn’t throw up on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>America didn’t bat an eye at the less lavish home. It wasn’t his place to judge someone on their living situation, especially when he was on their level just a decade ago. Either way, he turned open the doorknob to the studio, pushing it open with his foot and closing it with his body as he made his way through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside was dark. So dark. Through the darkness you could barely make out a small workspace in the corner, a bed in the other corner, and a television attached to the wall. On the other side of the room was a kitchenette and a door that probably led to the bathroom. There was no couch, no chairs, no other things. If asked about it, South Korea would just laugh and call himself a minimalist, but there was no sugarcoating it. The home was barren.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for America, he was well suited for darkness. As he blinked a couple of times and adjusted his catlike eyes to the low light setting, he made a beeline for South Korea’s bed to lay him on it. He gently placed the much younger man on the mattress, pulling the blanket back over him to tuck him in. This studio was more than a little sad. It was clear that something happened here, because there was no way in hell that he could possibly have this barren of a flat unless he just got it. And knowing South Korea, he did not just move in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>America heaved a sigh through his nose. Now, to take care of that bastard of a brother he has.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>North Korea was lighting fireworks in his driveway when the man showed up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America didn’t have to go far to find South’s degenerate brother, thankfully. He’d only travelled about five blocks to get to him and the sound of fireworks screeching and their brightness was just like an indicator in a first person shooter game. How hilarious. As much as he would love to just strut up there and beat his ass, there might be witnesses. Blegh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, America leaned himself against an old fence, hidden to the unsuspecting, but if one were to look in his direction, they would see him. Now, he just watched him and surveyed the area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone was asleep. Nobody had home security. Convenient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea lurched back and ducked behind the trash bin as the Black Cat fired off into the night. Golden light filled the sky, illuminating the inky jet black blankets above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea laughed maniacally as the fireworks went off. As soon as the shots ceased, he marched back over to light another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as the blindingly bright light fired into the sky and lit it up like the Fourth of July, America found himself disgusted by it. The night should be revered, not disrespected by such foul contraptions. The deafening boom of the explosion from the firework made America flinch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>”People are trying to sleep, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea jumped, immediately recognizing the American accented voice from behind him. He whipped around, bearing a scowl on his blue and red face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”It wasn’t piss. More like tears,” America retorted, a scowl, but a cold one, painting his expressions. He didn’t look like he wanted to take shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awh, was little bitch boy crying about his dead boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Who said they were mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, did you pour somebody’s tears into the milk? Gross. Milk isn’t supposed to be salty. That’s cum’s job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny, but no. I’m more concerned about something else,”  America barely even cracked a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea spun his lighter on his finger, messing with his eyepatch with his free hand. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a question for ya, commie,” America growled, his blue eyes narrowing, something malicious flashing within the oceanic depths. “What makes you think it’s okay to manipulate and exploit your brother, you incestuous cuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea froze. His look was that of a deer in headlights. It took a moment, but eventually, he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...He told you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was supposed to be a question, but it didn’t sound like one. Instead it was more of a statement, an observation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America’s tone matched North’s. A deadpan statement, point, blank, period. The harsh gleam in his eyes didn’t waver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tell another soul or lay a hand on me, and I will put you in a trunk and help people look for you,” North Korea glared at him in the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, how sweet.  America falsely purred, raising an eyebrow. He lifted himself from the fence, straightening his back to stand straight once more. He practically towered over the Korean, despite being a number of feet away from him. “The degenerate thinks he can live. That’s funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea clenched his fists at his sides, gritting his teeth. “You’ll regret killing me. South will never forgive you when he finds out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even think Jesus could find it within him to forgive you, either.” America growled back, taking a slow, long step towards the Korean, with his hands behind his back. “Count your lucky stars, they’ll die soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” was all the man in front of America said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I don’t sleep with brother fuckers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never got to have sex with him. And I never will, because you’re about to kill me. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America smirked. “Look at you, finally a coherent thought.” He was teasing him. Poking the lion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>America stepped closer to him, his footsteps slow and heel-first. His path was a more circular one, circling the North Korean over and over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a shame I never got to. I haven’t seen him naked since that day in the shower when we were thirteen, but I bet he’s just as… Delightful,”  North Korea hummed. He turned with America, refusing to let him out his line of sight. “But I’m sure you would know. You slept with him yet? You’re probably looking for someone to fill the hole in your heart after Perú got tired of your bullshit and offed himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as North’s words sent disgusted shivers down his spine, especially at the imagery he didn’t want to have in his head, he found him trying to shame him for ‘sleeping with’ South as hilariously funny. He still didn’t crack a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not until he made a reference to Perú’s death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a low blow. America felt the pain in his chest return as his facial expression changed from smug to hurt. It took him a moment to recover, to shove down all the painful memories of the blood on his hands, the knife, the look on his face...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you think happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh. What else could’ve happened? Did you kill him?” North Korea laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As a matter of fact,” America had to hold down a laugh. Doing so caused pain in his throat, more so than the whiskey did. It was like he was choking on his own thoughts and words. Like a thick ball of himself had gotten lodged in there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what hurt more was his chest. The pain was terrible. It came in pangs, horrible burning pangs of fiery hot guilt. The pain was impossible to bear, horrible and rough and downright terrible. And yet, the laugh still managed to bubble up from him. “Of course. I fucking killed him. I killed him. I said it! I killed him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America suddenly whirled around and leaped for North Korea, grabbing him and tackling him into the rough pavement of the uneven and cracked driveway. ”Besides, I haven’t had my dinner yet. You’ll do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A scream bubbled up from North Korea’s throat, escaping from his gaping mouth as America tackled him to the ground. He went down kicking and flailing, writhing against the brute like a worm in the clutches of a curious child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking monster! You killed Perú! You killed—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea howled in agony as he accidentally knocked his head against the pavement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America’s hand clamped itself around North Korea’s neck, squeezing mercilessly and sealing off his trachea without a care in the world. The feel of his carotid artery pulsing against his thumb was exhilarating, his struggles egged him on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, you disgusting worm,” America spat, his lip curling to bare his sharklike teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in North Korea’s life, he felt the hot, burning sensation building up in his eyes. Before he could stop it, the tears breached his waterline and then came the ugly sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amerhhhhhica! Lehhh mrhhh gohhhh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”And let you run around and tell the world what I did?” He cracked a smile. An insane smile that held nothing pleasant. “Not a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>North Korea wailed, hoping to whatever god there was that the neighbors were home and they would hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said,” America snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America didn’t miss a beat, opening his mouth and maneuvering his tongue around the flesh. He shoved it into his mouth and chewed wetly, pulling in more and more as he chewed it up like the skin on a rotisserie chicken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he chewed and disgusting, wet grinding sounds came from his mouth, blood and saliva dropped down his lips and chin. Once it was all mush, he’d swallowed thickly, heaving a sigh before turning to North Korea’s body once more. America licked his lips hungrily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, North Korea was out. He’d fainted from the agony of his face been chewed off. Blood pooled in a deep crimson puddle around his limp body, staining the pavement and his clothes and the nearby fireworks. His lighter was still in his hand, laying in between weak, curled fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America didn’t miss a beat, opening his mouth and maneuvering his tongue around the flesh. He shoved it into his mouth and chewed wetly pulling in more and more as he chewed it up like the skin on a rotisserie chicken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he chewed and disgusting, wet grinding sounds came from his mouth, blood and saliva dropped down his lips and chin. Once it was all mush, he’d swallowed thickly, heaving a sigh before turning to North Korea’s body once more. America licked his lips hungrily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There North Korea laid all night, until America had fulfilled his need for a meat fix.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>South Korea stirred to the sound of shoes squeezing across the shitty, cracked tile floor of the kitchenette. He bolted out of bed and darted into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh, South?” America called. “Southie? I saw you run to the bathroom, you good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevermind that it reminded him of something he wanted to forget. He was kinda busy putting up a chicken cookie jar on a shelf he installed in the kitchenette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Ame!” South Korea laughed, peeking out the bathroom door. “I thought you were an intruder!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America couldn’t resist chuckling. South’s reaction was hilarious, especially considering that there wasn’t anything to steal. Well, there was, but just ikea furniture and decorations that he bought for the sad studio. ”Southie, there wouldn’t be much to steal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea frowned. Then he realized that America had just furnished his home. “...Ame. Oh, my god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. So much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Oh.. uh..” America was a little caught off guard. ”You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have to—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kinda did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea skittered over to America and engulfed him into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America blinked, shocked by his boldness but certainly not pushing him away. South was considerably shorter than him, much like Perú was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, everything about him reminded him of Perú. The trusting attitude, the general joyfulness, his height, his mannerisms.. lord, it all reminded him of Perú. All of him was so much like the boy he loved with his whole being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to keep him from finding out. The American wrapped his arms around South in return with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t help but feel guilty, though. This had to have cost a lot. Here, let’s work out a plan for me to pay you back.” South Korea pulled away from the embrace. He hurried over to the fridge to pull out some eggs. “I like my eggs poached, what about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, no, I make enough money in two months to gain back what I spent.” America reassured him, holding up his hands, a sign to show that there’s no harm in it. America wasn’t one to share his wages, but he did make quite a bit, enough to put him in the more than comfortable category. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Don’t think about it. “Uh, I like mine the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...We work for the same company and only one of us is making a living wage. To be fair, I’m at the bottom. Aha,” South Korea feigned laughter and got to work on the eggs. “The plates are in that cabinet. Grab two?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I make more than a living wage. What the fuck is going on here?” America huffed, reaching into the cabinet, grabbing two plates and setting them down onto the counter beside South Korea. “What’s your position?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bottom? Why do you ask?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you meant at work. Ahahah! Sorry— I do the same thing you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”That’s just.. unfair,” America deadpanned. “You do the same amount of work that I do, and you’re paid less?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, life’s unfair. North always said that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Not if I can help it. I’m gonna make UN give you a raise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” He asked, turning around to crack an egg and drop it into the boiling water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Positive. If I can do something about it, I’ll fucking do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Fair is what keeps people happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea removed the now poached egg from the water and placed it gingerly on a plate. He passed the plate to America. “Here you go. A token of my appreciation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America took the plate from the much smaller Korean, smiling down at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” he said, his voice sounding slightly low due to his sleepiness. Although he wasn’t too hungry, thanks to having a stomachful of North Korea, he took the plate nonetheless and began to gorge himself on the egg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you slept? You can take the bed for a few hours and I can call a cab for you to get home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I slept on the couch for an hour. I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you being honest? Or did you stay up all night filling my home with furniture?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From midnight to five. Slept at six.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, holy shit, what time is it?! I’m supposed to be in a meeting at seven!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about seven-ish. I’d guess eight. What was the meeting for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea groaned, dropping another egg into the water. “I’m gonna go fucking apeshit. That meeting’s for one of my most important clients. Victoriana López. She also happens to be my second ex-wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kinda role does she play? And I doubt she would want to do business with you, no offense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s the lead in You’re Going To Brazil. Big stuff,” South Korea squinted. “Not every divorce ends with the two parties leaving each other’s lives. Victoriana and I are on good terms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, that one? Oh fuck, dude get dressed at the speed of light and go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea shoved the wooden spoon into America’s hand, then hurried out of the kitchen to climb into fresh clothes. He didn’t bother going into the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumped into his pants, zipped them up, then threw on his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America didn’t have to be told twice, averting his gaze almost immediately and staring at a cabinet instead. He swiped his tongue over his lip, catching some egg yolk and swallowing it down. It didn’t really have a taste, since the egg didn’t have salt, but he would take it for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you’re good. Safe now,” South Korea said, buttoning up his shirt with shaking hands. His fingers kept slipping, however. “America? I could use a little help over here... Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so. I don’t plan on being unsafe, after all.” Ahh, dad jokes. They come with age, after all. He was old enough to be quite a few people’s dad, if it wasn’t clear. He chuckled at South’s meek request for help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without a word, he approached him and immediately began to push the buttons through the designated holes in the shirt for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea looked down at America’s hands. They were rough and calloused, but they weren’t dirty or anything. Their most notable trait was their sheer size. Goddamn. He could cover South Korea’s face and smother him if he so desired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only South knew what he did with those hands when he wasn’t looking. They were rough and calloused, certainly, but from fighting and tearing and holding weapons. He often wore gloves to prevent people from feeling his hands, or just didn’t offer handshakes at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sure that South Korea would break down if America’s secret got out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which it won’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, South Korea wanted to inch closer to the American. He wanted to bury himself in all that the brute was made of. But he didn’t— Mostly out of respect for the grieving man, but also because he hadn’t any time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as America finished buttoning his shirt for him, he scrambled to pull his phone off its charger and then make a break for the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re free to leave if you want, but if you’re still hungry there’s leftover pizza in the fridge!” he shouted before slamming the door behind him and hurrying onto the porch to call a cab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older male nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll keep that in mind,” America straightened out his back, and waved goodbye to the fleeing South Korean. Oddly enough, he seemed… different. Like something changed in him. Maybe it was the fact that he’d spilled his problems to him and cried his heart out, or maybe because he’d gotten advice, or woke up on the right side of the bed. You can never know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, America sat himself down on the couch, silently contemplating the look in South’s eye that he couldn’t quite decipher.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>As soon as South Korea got home, he flopped back-first onto the couch, loosening his necktie. He let out a groan, which echoed throughout the studio. He then sat upright again, grabbed the television remote and turned on the TV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"--th Korea found dead outside his home last night. Investigation is ongoing. Now for this week's forecast!" the woman on the screen read from her script in her hands. As she said 'forecast', she gestured to a man offscreen, then the camera turned to said man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea’s jaw dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America, seated on the couch, had moved aside for South to get himself comfortable. He’d long relaxed into the couch, his posture slumped and pliant as his arms lay crossed on his chest. He was only half paying attention to the news, dipping in and out of focus while it played. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He froze upon hearing North’s name. Straightening his posture, America focused on the television that was playing the news forecast. They’d found him, of course, it would be hard to miss a dead body. His brows creased in an effort to make it seem like he was confused, or shocked, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>”What the fuck..?” he muttered. ”I didn’t like him, but dead? That’s too far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea's gaze immediately shot to America. "Ame..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America met his gaze as well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span>What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You did this, didn't you?" South Korea's voice cracked. He sniffled, bringing a hand to wipe his heating face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. America’s face morphed into one that was hurt, but the expression was fake. Hopefully it wasn’t too obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Why are you blaming me? I didn’t do anything!” He exclaimed, hurt and anger shining in his ocean blue eyes. His ears felt hot with anxiety. ”I was lost in ikea for five hours! I wasn’t anywhere near him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How could you?! I loved him!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I didn’t do anything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You killed my brother! I'm calling the fucking cops!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I didn’t kill anyo— Woah, woah, woah, hold up there! Just chill out hold on and chill!” America’s panic quickly kicked in, holding up his hands as a mock form of surrender while he struggled to keep South Korea calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look. I hate to ask-- Did you kill Peru, too?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America’s mood did a full one-eighty. </span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span>How fucking dare you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hit the nail right on the head, didn't I?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”No, you hit me in the gut. Low fucking blow, you son of a bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You killed him. Oh, my god. You killed both of them," South Korea pulled his phone from his pocket, then dialed 911. His finger hovered over the call button. "Have fun in prison."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America felt lead drop into the pit of his stomach. That lead was guilt, and fear. For the first time in centuries, America was scared. Terrified, even. His blue eyes glazed over with panic, darting from South’s phone to his face. No. No. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abso-fucking-lutely not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a flash, America had suddenly struck out and socked South Korea in the jaw, hoping to stun him as he dived for the phone in his  hand. He had effectively thrown his weight onto the other whilst doing so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea cried out as America's fist met his jaw. He toppled onto the floor with America. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America barely listened to his cries as he used his weight to press South onto the floor, freeing his hand and grabbing his phone. He pressed onto South’s chest and diaphragm, effectively pushing the air out from his lungs as he gripped onto his phone and used his sheer strength to crush it in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shards flew about, some digging into his hand, others sticking out every which way or scattering across the floor. America got off of South Korea the minute the threat was eliminated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea rolled onto his side, bringing his knees to his chest. He sobbed violently as he laid on the carpet in fetal position. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America dropped the crushed phone. Long, heaving breaths rushed from his body, his lungs expanding and contracting as he came down from his brief fear-fueled adrenaline high. He could barely even pay attention to South’s sobbing, or his begging. It was like white noise to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have done it in the first place. He should have let Perú run away. He should have let him kill him. He should have let him live. Oh, Perú.. his precious baby Perú.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will not tell another fucking soul,” America snarled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a side of America South Korea never expected to see. Were these his true colors revealing themselves? He hoped to God this was just a nightmare, that his brother was alive, that America hadn’t just knocked him to the ground and threatened him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking better not!” America barked, suddenly lashing out in anger as fury burned in his eyes. The flames of anger burned like hot ash in his chest, killing every bit of him that was human and causing him pain. Guilt was a bitter fucking poison. “I will give you a fate worse than death if you even THINK of telling a single soul.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea’s wails filled the room. He sounded like an air raid siren on meth. His body wracked with each sob, and his throat was filling with drainage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me!” his voice was hoarse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America could swear that he could hear Perú sobbing. It sounded pained, either from physical or emotional pain, America expected either one from the poor boy, especially what he had put him through. Sniff, sob, sob, sob.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>America ached to hold him. To say he was sorry. He wanted to silence those sobs in the gentlest way he could imagine, he just wanted to make it stop. Each one made his heart ache more and more, a bleeding and empty husk that made him human at one point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no. It wasn’t Perú. He’d watched the boy die. He’d watched the light leave his eyes, he’d felt his last breath rush from his lungs.. and it was all his fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All your fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All your fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All your fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!”  America cried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a monster!" South Korea squeezed himself tight, rolling back and forth on the floor. "You killed them, and you're going to kill me, too!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span>Shut up!” America snarled suddenly, pushing himself up from the ground in an effort to ground himself. Odd, isn’t it? He didn’t attempt to even try and reassure South. Doing so was like he was trying to talk to Perú. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”I said, shut up!” The American roared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>South Korea curled up even tighter, his wails growing louder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound was terrible. He fucking hated the sound of his wails, so high pitched and obnoxious like a fire alarm in a school. America gritted his teeth with a growl, his head snapping towards the horrible sound of South’s screeches and wails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up..” he growled as he gripped onto South, dragging him closer to his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up..” America gripped onto his jaw, his other arm holding him in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved South’s head by the jaw to the right, before gripping it harshly with his hand and sharply drawing his hand back with a powerful movement. A sharp snap echoed through the studio.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. Fuck (Dog Teeth 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: transphobia, sexual harassment and assault, mentions of substance abuse, sexism</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ukraine hurried down the hall, dress shoes clacking against the tile floor. Their tie came untucked from their blazer and it swung back and forth with every step they took, but they paid no mind. They had a fat stack of paperwork bound together by two bulldog clips tucked under one arm, a styrofoam cup of coffee in their other hand. Just before the door to the conference room slammed shut, they caught it with their foot.</p>
<p>"Sorry I'm late— I wasn't sure if assistants were supposed to come and my phone was dead so I never received Japan's text!"</p>
<p>America reclined in his seat, the hinges of the cushioned chair squeaking and squealing as it dipped backward beneath his shifting weight. His stomach fluttered with the feel of fear for the situation of if he might fall out of it, like he'd shoved a couple of butterflies and a lizard down his throat to scratch and struggle against his insides. The thought itself was a little sickening, since leaving a live lizard or butterfly to be dissolved alive by his stomach fluids wasn't a comfortable thought, but also because he assumed that he'd come down with something.</p>
<p>For a while, he'd felt mildly sick to his stomach, along with dealing with migraines throughout the day of differing severity. From pounding headaches to mild strains, he was sure he'd felt them all. He wasn't too sure what the source was, but he hoped enough Advil would fix it.</p>
<p>He raised an eyebrow at the sudden sound of the door being caught and then flung open, and looked over to where the sound originated. America blinked at the sight of a small, slightly feminine male with a stack of papers and a cup of coffee. He averted his gaze when he had the information he needed about the younger looking male. Or... what he thought was a male. He was getting mixed signals.</p>
<p>America sighed. "Thankfully, you're just on time. Have a seat."</p>
<p>Ame looked up from his papers in front of him to motion to the seat beside him, immediately going back to his papers as the other members within the room stayed silent and statue still.</p>
<p>Ukraine cowered upon hearing America's voice, immediately recognizing that America was a person of authority in this office. Their coffee sloshed around in the cup and nearly spilled across the front of their shirt as they made a mad dash for the seat beside America.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"</p>
<p>Despite what America said about them being right on time, Ukraine's face still burned an angry, fire engine red. Nearly late to their first meeting? Get a grip, Ukraine, they thought to themself. Get a fucking grip.</p>
<p>America didn't reply, simply continuing to look over the papers right in front of him. The ivory white paper had jet black ink printed onto it, contrasting starkly like night and day. Just parameters for the new movie they planned to release, and more of loans and distribution processes that would take at least a couple months' time. This one needed his signature, if he agreed.</p>
<p>America squinted his ocean blue eyes, scanning through the fine print for anything unreasonable. So far, nothing. Nothing that they could exploit or anything that asks too much. Hm. He'll consider, at least until this meeting is over. He slid the paper to the new boy, muttering a soft, "Review this for me and be sure to tell me if there's something I should be aware of. Your eyes are sharper than mine," and resumed waiting for the meeting to begin.</p>
<p>Ukraine paled. "I... I have no idea what to look for, I'm sorry. I just manage Japan's schedule and make calls."</p>
<p>Nonetheless, they picked up the papers with shaking hands. Stuff about the budget, the cast and crew, an explanation for a musical number at the end of the movie that personally, to Ukraine, felt pretentious and unlike Hollywood showbiz and more like New York City showbiz, but whatever.</p>
<p>"Be wary of buzzwords, and look for things in the fine print that may be exploitative or suspicious, and be sure to point them out," America instructed without batting an eye, pushing up his black face mask to cover more of his face. Despite the fact that nobody had pointed out his sharp teeth before, nobody made a comment. He began to doodle on a sticky note to combat boredom while the client and the main man on the team continued back and forth chit-chat to discuss parameters and what exactly they would be doing.</p>
<p>"I don't see anythi— Oh! Not a buzzword or anything, but the cost of the set we're using in scene 36 is way over the budget stated on the front page. There's a footnote at the bottom that talks about it. Here—"</p>
<p>Ukraine showed the page to the man. Lo and behold, in fine print, it stated that the agency needed to rework the budget in order to fit in the set for the scene.</p>
<p>"But figuring out the sets isn't our job, is it? It's up to the first assistant director to manage set work."</p>
<p>Just as America was finishing up the fuzz on a Chinese dragon he was doodling, his attention was caught by the assistant that he had handed the paper off to. He had asked him to do some work for him, so he hoped that it was at least good. His headache was killing him.</p>
<p>Sure enough, when America looked at the fine print closely, there was definitely a note about that. Rework the budget to fit the scene? Who the hell? He was both enraged and pleased at once, but not for the same reason. America's dark scowl softened.</p>
<p>"Good catch, kiddo," America praised him. "I'll be sure to bring it up. Your name?"</p>
<p>"Ukraine, but my friends call me Ukie—" Ukraine flushed even redder. "Wait, that's not very professional, is it? I'm sorry! Garrhhhhgghh... Everything is going wrong today."</p>
<p>"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ukraine." America hummed lowly, holding down a scoff at him using his nickname. He couldn't care too much about being professional, since this meeting was much more laid back compared to the many he'd attended before. He didn't hesitate to get on with the next question. "And your pronouns?"</p>
<p>That Ukraine was not expecting.</p>
<p>"Uhm... They/them. Thank you. And you? Wait, you're America. My brother complai— talks! He talks about you all the time."</p>
<p>Oh. America couldn't be surprised that he was getting mixed signals. Now he had clarity, thankfully. He hummed in thanks, writing it down in swift, lightly calligraphic handwriting on a notepad. They, them, they, them.. repeat that to yourself, America. It's an adjustment, but use it right. He paused.</p>
<p>"Oh? I hope they're good things." The American lightly retorted, a laugh and a purr hanging on to the end of his voice as he spoke.</p>
<p>Ukraine's gaze darted to the ground. They studied their shoes. "Oh, God, no. I moved out here so I wouldn't have to listen to him anymore."</p>
<p>America scoffed softly. "Your brother must be very unbearable, hm?" He mused. "Especially if you had to move this far into the city. It's quite the commute." America went back to finishing up his tiny little Chinese dragon, adding the little whiskers to its face and adding the teeth.</p>
<p>"I didn't just change cities, I moved countries. My siblings live back at my father's old place in Russia. I came from there. So yeah, I came a long way to escape him."</p>
<p>"Wow." America deadpanned. "You really must've hated him."</p>
<p>America removed the sticky note from the stack and placed it just beside his stack of papers, running his thumb across the top where the adhesive would be on the other side. It stuck it to the table. "Well, I hope you enjoy your stay in the City of Angels, as we call it."</p>
<p>"Thank you..." Ukraine smiled to reveal slightly crooked teeth. "I think our conversation derailed. What do we do with the set work issue? I can run it up to the first assistant director if you can tell me what cubicle number."</p>
<p>"Cubicle six on the second row, floor twelve." America picked up his fountain pen again and wrote it down in neat and flourishing cursive, handing them the note after a moment. "Ask for Miss Rose Alvaine."</p>
<p>"Sure thing, Amer— sir. Sorry."</p>
<p>With that, Ukraine dashed off with the sticky note.</p>
<p>America didn't comment on them slipping up on his name, simply letting it go and allowing them to have their nerves and to let the nervousness fade from them. They were new, he needed to be a little lenient.</p>
<p>Within a few minutes, Ukraine returned.</p>
<p>"Miss Rose Alvaine is out sick, sir," they said with a tremor in their voice. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>America's attention turned back to the individual he had sent off with a note about the paperwork and guidelines. He looked up from his notes and work, his blue eyes meeting to lift the new assistant's for a fleeting moment. Then he dropped his gaze to their throat. Their voice trembled and shook like a cold, anxious chihuahua.</p>
<p>"Not to worry. Sit down," America instructed with an even voice. "I'll deal with it myself."</p>
<p>Ukraine immediately did as told, returning to their seat by America. "You're nothing like Russia said you were," they said quietly.</p>
<p>"Elaborate on what you mean," America didn't look up from the paperwork as he switched out his ink cartridge for a blue one. He swirled the pen on a piece of paper until the ink was working and flowing correctly, and then he got to work noting what was wrong.</p>
<p>"I think it's best I don't."</p>
<p>"It wasn't a request."</p>
<p>Ukraine swallowed audibly. "Well... He said you were mean and bitter. And greedy. And— I don't think there's an English translation for this word, but it's like... I don't know. I can't think of the word right now."</p>
<p>America huffed. "I've heard that one before."</p>
<p>His voice was even and nonchalant.</p>
<p>"I'll let you decide if I fit those expectations or not."</p>
<p>"I don't know how much time we'll be spending together— So I'm not sure if there's anything to decide. I'm sorry if this is rude, but what do you do here? I'm so sorry, the woman who showed me around was very nice but she didn't really explain much. I had no idea you even worked here," Ukraine scratched their neck.</p>
<p>"According to Japan, I was assigned an assistant. It could be you," America finished off a note before setting down his pen and finally sitting straight. His shoulders squared, widening his frame to make himself look bigger and more intimidating. This was something America absolutely loved to use when around rookies. "My position is more or less deciding who goes where, what gets passed and what gets thrown in the gutter."</p>
<p>He lifted his gaze to their eyes.</p>
<p>"Think of me as a more powerful manager."</p>
<p>The country scooted their chair back, obviously uncomfy and intimidated. "When... When they called, they said I was Japan's assistant. Was there a mix-up?"</p>
<p>Fucking hell, Ukraine, they thought to themself, mind racing. You're gonna let this guy get under your skin? It's your first day. You're expected to fuck up. There's nothing to fear.</p>
<p>The scoot back confirmed America's feeling. Indeed, Ukraine was quite the submissive one. How sweet.</p>
<p>"I will have to check after the meeting. Until then, stay with Nippon."</p>
<p>"Alright."<br/>_________________</p>
<p>America's knuckles met the fine wood of Japan's office door, making a loud knocking sound on the finely finished mahogany wood with minimalist structures but still very impressive. His shoulders rested back, his chest puffed up slightly as he awaited Japan's response, since he needed this situation figured out within the next three hours. His shift ended then, and he wasn't keen on making people overwork due to a misunderstanding on someone else's part.</p>
<p>Ukraine shot out of their place in the corner of the room to answer the door. They cracked it open. "Hello? Oh! Sir!"</p>
<p>They then turned around to face Japan.</p>
<p>"Ma'am, it's... America. Am I allowed to refer to him by his name? Or do I say his position? God this is hard..."</p>
<p>Keep it together, Ukraine! Fucking Christ on a bike. You're a stupid piece of shit, aren't you? Can't even refer to your boss right. Is he your boss? Who runs this place? Ukraine's thoughts ran a mile a minute as they awaited Japan's response.</p>
<p>"Just let him in," she said.</p>
<p>Ukraine let America inside the office.</p>
<p>"Mr. Washington if you insist on formalities, Ukraine," America corrected them, nodding slightly to them as a means of saying thank you. "Or just America."</p>
<p>He made his way to Japan's desk with long, slow strides.</p>
<p>"Good afternoon, Nippon," He greeted slowly. "I have some questions regarding the assistant situation." His voice was oddly collected and stern, yet soft. "It's been a bit of a headache trying to figure out on my own."</p>
<p>"I, too, have been confused as to who Ukraine works f— with. I've gotten mixed answers," Japan sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "I've called up the head honchos at Vigor and they told me that if you require an assistant, you can take Ukraine because they'll find me a new one."</p>
<p>"I can certainly take them as an assistant," America reassured her in his even voice, a small pang of sympathy pricking at his insides at her stress. "I'll be sure to fix this issue soon, since this is clearly far too complicated, more so than it should be."</p>
<p>"Thank you, America," Japan raised her cup of coffee to her lips, a mug that read in bold red letters, I EAT ASS. She passed the mug to Ukraine upon taking her final sip. "Fetch me another cup of coffee before you go with America? I'd appreciate it."</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am," Ukraine rushed to go refill the mug.</p>
<p>America smiled beneath his mask at the mug. "Honestly, I'm surprised that UN hasn't ridden your ass about that mug yet, or your hentai picture."</p>
<p>"I don't have a dick, but UN can still suck it. If I want to drink from my ass-eating mug and hang traditional Japanese art from my walls, then goddammit, I will," Japan cracked a grin.</p>
<p>"I'm sure he's sucked NATO off at one point." America leaned against the wall of the office, checking his nails like a high school mean girl. He tapped his foot impatiently as his headache dragged on, although light, still quite annoying. "However, the audacious nature of it is something I can side with."</p>
<p>"That's because they're married, America. They've been married for a decade. NATO proposed during a pitch for that show called Philbert we cancelled not too long ago. Very unprofessional to do so, but hey, NATO and UN get away with everything."</p>
<p>Ukraine quickly returned, hot mug of coffee in hand.</p>
<p>"I had no idea, but I am not surprised. Good day, Ukraine."</p>
<p>NATO and UN were a thing for 10 years? Well, America can't exactly ask why he didn't know, since he didn't exactly give two shits about what happened with them and had kept to himself all this time. Either way.</p>
<p>The smile beneath America's mask melted away as the business facade was pulled back up. "Come along, Ukraine. I have some things I need to tell you."</p>
<p>Ukraine perked up at the sound of America's voice. They set the mug on Japan's desk, on top of the coaster beside the titty mousepad. "Yessir."</p>
<p>America nodded silently to Japan before opening the office door, holding it open for the smaller assistant and then leading them down the hall. His steps were long and slow, but due to such a height difference, America slowed his steps so that the other could keep up with him. He took a right down the hall and then a left. Stopping in front of a metal elevator shaft. He pushed on the button that pointed upwards.</p>
<p>Ukraine followed along behind him, not daring to speed up to walk at his side. The walk to the elevator was silent.</p>
<p>Ukraine's thoughts went wild again.</p>
<p>You looked so stupid setting that mug down next to the titty mousepad. You fucking stupid piece of shit. You should've stayed in Russia with your family. It would've been safer. Less foreign. But no! You had to fly all the way out to Los Angeles, California, to get a job at Vigor agency because you thought you could amount to something. Dumbass.</p>
<p>America's thoughts were silenced during the wait for the elevator. It was all pleasantly silent, nothing like screeching or men arguing could be heard from down the hall today. It eased America's growing headache and took his mind off of the light pounding on his temples.</p>
<p>The elevator gave a light ding once the elevator had arrived, and America motioned for Ukraine to get on first before he did. Once they were both inside, he pressed a button to take them both to a floor three floors up from here.</p>
<p>Ukraine tucked their tie back into their blazer, finally realizing that it had gotten loose.</p>
<p>Oh, God. How long was that out? Stupid dumb idiot. Not only are you stupid, but you are also dumb.</p>
<p>Ukraine squeezed their eyes shut and ran a hand through their dark hair, biting their tongue to ground themself.</p>
<p>Okay, Ukie. Name some things you can see. I see America— No, not him. He's scary. What else? Uh... I see the fancy tile on the ground. The shiny buttons on the panel in front of me. My shoes. My shoelaces. Does that count? Or are they the same thing?</p>
<p>America folded his arms over his chest, a low but almost silent sigh heaving from his lungs as he waited for the damned metal box to take him to his floor. His blue eyes focused on the little screen in the corner of the elevator, a red light similar to an alarm clock in how it works. Hm. Interesting.</p>
<p>America tapped his foot against the metal flooring of the elevator as his headache pounded in his skull. Fuck. Why can't it just fucking go away? He can't take a sick day, he hasn't finished a project, but damn he was tempted to. Ame exhaled through his nose. He needed some more Advil.</p>
<p>Then the elevator finally reached the floor they needed to be, and the doors opened into a hallway. America motioned for Ukraine to get off before him. "After you."</p>
<p>Ukraine stepped into the corridor, away from the elevator doors so America could walk out too and lead the way.</p>
<p>America stepped out of the elevator and turned right. Silently leading Ukraine towards where they both needed to be. Once again, he had matched his steps with Ukraine's to keep them from getting too far behind.</p>
<p>"Tell me a little bit about yourself," America stated, the light command directed towards Ukraine as means of getting to know them.</p>
<p>That caught Ukraine off guard.</p>
<p>"You want? To know about? Me?" they tilted their head, puzzled.</p>
<p>"Yes, I do," America reinforced his statement with a light ring of laughter to his voice. "I believe that you are the only one I could direct the comment to?"</p>
<p>Ukraine chuckled sheepishly. "Well... You already know I come from Russia. I grew up in a household with twelve other children. My father was the Soviet Union— So I'm a little surprised we've never met. If we have, it was when I was a kid."</p>
<p>The pair made a turn.</p>
<p>"I attended the Russian Institute of Theater Arts in Moscow with a major in acting, which sounds stupid coming out of my mouth, since I'm an manager's assistant and not an actor. Also, acting is a bad major. My father always wanted me to do manufacturing, but Belarus said to chase my dreams. And that I did. Here I am, in California."</p>
<p>They made another turn.</p>
<p>"Uhm... I'm five foot four inches. I'm multilingual. My best friend is my cat, who I left at home with my siblings. Her name is Betonu. Russia always said that was an odd name for a cat, since it translates to concrete, but what does he know?"</p>
<p>America nearly froze upon hearing the name Soviet Union, but continued walking as to keep himself in a calm facade and hopefully keep Ukraine calm as well. It helped to appear harmless and serene to keep clients and employees from feeling nervous. "I don't believe that we have. I never visited Soviet after the whole Germany situation."</p>
<p>America held down a scoff. "He sounds like my father. Except my father is old enough to be his great-grandfather. Cat named Concrete, hm? I'm not exactly allowed to judge."</p>
<p>"If your father is anything like mine, then I'm very sorry," Ukraine sighed. "If he knew where I was, what I was doing, and that I'm working with you, he'd be rolling in his grave. A terrible father he was. He always favored Russia over the rest of my siblings. I remember once when we played a match of chess he kept flicking my pieces off the board because— And I quote —he wanted to prove to me that because I'm a "girl", I'll never win anything. Stupid, stupid man."</p>
<p>Ukraine took a deep, shaky breath.</p>
<p>"Sorry, I'm talking too much. Tell me about you!"</p>
<p>"Well, I'm sorry that you had him as a father." America's tone was softer than before, a light ring of gentleness on the end of his tone as he spoke to them. "I'm rather glad that I didn't get to know him that well."</p>
<p>That, America paused at. Talk about himself? Wasn't that a little vain? And he'd have to be careful. He doesn't want to come off a certain way that he doesn't want to... Oh well.</p>
<p>"My last name is Washington, and in human years I am technically around 45. Real years? Just shy of two and a half centuries." He sighed through his nose. "My father was the UK back in the 1700's. So Northern Ireland wasn't exactly a thing back then. Either way, we fought and I won, which was impressive back then or something."</p>
<p>"Ahaha, you're old enough to be my dad. I'm twenty two in human years, but I'm a little less than a century old. Wait, was that rude? The whole you being old enough to be my dad thing? I'm so sorry."</p>
<p>"I get it a lot." America reassured them. "And if you ask Japan, she'll sometimes call me 'Nuke Daddy'."</p>
<p>Ame held down a gag at the nickname.</p>
<p>"You might not want to know why."</p>
<p>"Because of Imperial Japan?"</p>
<p>"Mhm."</p>
<p>"That guy was real mean. Glad he's dead. Thanks for nuking him," Ukraine hummed. "And Japan isn't mad that you killed her father?"</p>
<p>"I haven't heard that before," America huffed, but with a hum. Sort of like a laugh, but with zero effort. "No, she isn't. She listened to my side of the story and gradually came to understand it."</p>
<p>"Japan's nice. I like her mug. And her... Posters."</p>
<p>"Traditional Japanese art," America reminded himself, smiling beneath his black mask. "She's nice, but underpaid. UN isn't nearly as nice to her as he is to me. Which, in and of itself, is unfair."</p>
<p>"You're very likable. But yes, I suppose that is unfair," is all Ukraine said to that.</p>
<p>"Oh? Am I now?" America finally let loose a soft chuckle, his blue eyes glinting with something slightly mischievous. "I'm honored."</p>
<p>Ukraine beamed at hearing America chuckle. "You have a nice laugh, too! Sorry if it's weird to bombard you with compliments."</p>
<p>"No, no, it's fine." America waved off their suspicions with a gentle laugh again. A gentle rosiness dusted his cheeks. "It's not something I hear every day."</p>
<p>"Can... Can I see your smile? Is that appropriate to ask? Sorry for apologizing so much, but I'm sorry if it's not okay for me to ask that."</p>
<p>America froze. His smile, and risk them getting freaked out because of his teeth? Hell no.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid I'll have to decline on that one."</p>
<p>America kept his voice even.</p>
<p>"All you have is my laugh and my handsome looks, is that enough for you for now?"</p>
<p>This time, with a light hint of a joke.</p>
<p>"You are very handsome. No homo."</p>
<p>"I'm flattered. Is that what you younger kids use to say 'not that it means anything'?"</p>
<p>Ukraine short circuited. "Wkdkfnddijdns— Yeah. Yessir."</p>
<p>"Heh," America chuckled. "It doesn't really work that well on me, but I'll take it."</p>
<p>"You're immune!"</p>
<p>"I very much am."</p>
<p>"I still don't know my orientation. I'd rather not put a label on it, since it's so complicated for me. Is this okay to talk about? I don't want to overstep any boundaries..."</p>
<p>"Consider me your safe space to talk about it." America pushed open the door to an office with a plaque that read his name and occupation, motioning for Ukraine to come inside. "I know quite a few people whom I've had to scold due to their... apprehensiveness towards the subject."</p>
<p>"Thank you. I appreciate that,"</p>
<p>Ukraine stepped into the office. Their eyes flickered about the room. A fake plant in the corner, a big desk, two chairs in front of said desk... Just like any other office.</p>
<p>"Well, now that we're here, what did you need to talk about?"</p>
<p>"Just some guidelines, what to expect, and the general code of conduct that goes for every employee." America closed his door and made his way to the swivel chair in the office, where he sat down on the cushioned piece of furniture with a huff. Opening his desk, he took out a small pill and swallowed it without water. "Have a seat."</p>
<p>Right then a rush of pure adrenaline shot up Ukraine's spine. A wave of dizziness came crashing over them. Fuck. Back to professionalism.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>They gingerly took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk.</p>
<p>The painkiller didn't take effect for a little while, and America's head was killing him. He wished it would hurry up already. Either way he sighed and looked Ukraine dead in the eye. "The first thing you should keep in mind is the policy for harassment towards other employees. Any harassment of all kinds under the sun is to be reported immediately to sort out the issue. Whoever it was reported to has the legal authority to carry out a punishment that they see fit."</p>
<p>America's voice was back to being sharp and cold, not as warm as it was during the idle conversation in the halls to get to this office. "That doesn't mean that you might hurt someone. It means that if it happens, report it. We will get the situation taken care of within a few hours' time."</p>
<p>"Understood. Yessir."</p>
<p>Ukraine refused to make eye contact, instead looking at America's nose.</p>
<p>"Good." He hummed. "Next, there's theft and the breaking of laws and company policy via anything within the company. No tolerance, thrown in jail. Pretty simple."</p>
<p>"Also understood."</p>
<p>"Superiors are to be respected, but that's just common sense, and it is best that you try your best to be welcoming and friendly. Not a conduct thing, but more of a tip to help you integrate with the others."</p>
<p>Ukraine nodded.</p>
<p>"And lastly, — this is literally from the book — Don't comment on Japan's office decorations or complain to anyone." America sighed. "It's happened far too many times."</p>
<p>Ukraine bit their lip, swallowing a giggle. "Y... Yessir."</p>
<p>"It's okay, you can laugh."</p>
<p>Ukraine burst into a fit of giggles.</p>
<p>America couldn't keep his own straight face and let a light laugh escape from him too. "HR sure got tired of hearing the variants for Titty Mousepad, hm?"</p>
<p>Ukraine couldn't even begin to respond. They doubled over, arms wrapped around themself as they cackled.</p>
<p>Fuck. America couldn't even keep his laughter in anymore. He just burst into a fit of low, guttural laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and how Japan managed to single handedly finesse her way out of being talked to by HR for her office decorations.</p>
<p>Eventually, the pair calmed themselves. Every now and then, a very not well restrained giggle escaped from Ukraine's lips, but otherwise, their laughs had ceased.</p>
<p>"And that's it. That is all I have for you." America concluded, standing from his seat to make his way towards the door. "Since my shift is almost over, and I don't have many things for you to do, you're free to go." America unlocked his office door. "If you have any questions, you may ask me now or email me tonight."</p>
<p>"Wait... Why was the door locked?"</p>
<p>"It locks automatically."</p>
<p>"Oh."<br/>_____________________</p>
<p>America leaned against the wall just outside of the break room, one hand shoved into his pocket while the other held up his steaming cup of coffee in a white styrofoam cup. The dark liquid tasted bitter and almost like nothing, but it had a light lingering hint of something else that America couldn't quite place his finger on. Either way, he still lifted it up to his lips, his mask moved down so that he could drink from it.</p>
<p>He lingered outside of it rather than in because it was a little tactic of his to keep an eye on his employees without having to worry about them knowing he's there. It helped him catch things before they escalated.</p>
<p>From what he knew, there was a human in there by the name of Dean. Dean had some problems in the past, so he had a habit of keeping an eye on him.</p>
<p>Ukraine was minding their own business at the coffee machine, pouring in the grounds, when Dean showed up.</p>
<p>"Hey."</p>
<p>"...Hey?"</p>
<p>America groaned internally. Here we go.</p>
<p>"I see you finally broke down and got those breast implants," Dean propped himself up against the counter, looking Ukraine up and down.</p>
<p>"I— What?" Ukraine froze. They donned a deer-in-headlights look on their paled face.</p>
<p>"You heard me."</p>
<p>"I'm not a... You shouldn't even be looking there," Ukraine set down the spoon they used to shovel coffee grounds into the machine and folded their arms across their chest, suddenly self-conscious.</p>
<p>America felt weight drop into the pit of his stomach the moment Dean spoke. It was certainly gross, of course, but not a punishable offense. Which was the sad part. Either way, America sipped his coffee, listening intently to the conversation that continued on.</p>
<p>Why was Dean even looking there in the first place? Good question. Ukraine had just started to work here, they probably had close to no affiliation with this asshole.</p>
<p>"Let me just—"</p>
<p>Dean reached for Ukraine, who immediately smacked his hand with a snarl.</p>
<p>"I don't know who you think you are, coming up to me and then commenting on my body before trying to grope me, but that shit will not fly."</p>
<p>Oh hell no. America didn't even bother to pull his mask up as he tossed his coffee into the nearby trash can. Just as Ukraine had said, this shit wouldn't fly. He, instead, waited by the door frame, looking into the break room with a cold look on his face. America pulled his mask up.</p>
<p>Now to wait for him to try again.</p>
<p>With that, Dean went at Ukraine. Ukraine screamed.</p>
<p>"Dean!" America snarled, quite loudly too.</p>
<p>Dean's gaze shot to the doorway where America stood. His brow furrowed. He had Ukraine pinned to the wall by their shoulders.</p>
<p>"My office," America's sharp tone cut the atmosphere like a well sharpened blade straight from the whetstone. "Now."</p>
<p>"No, I don't think I will."</p>
<p>"Excuse me?"</p>
<p>"Excused."</p>
<p>America's already cold gaze became colder in an instant. If looks could kill, America would have had Dean sliced up and diced nicely to put in a human Caesar salad for him to have at lunch. Dean really was digging his grave. If that was the case, then America would be glad to fill it in for him.</p>
<p>The much taller and older man was in the room in a flash, approaching Dean rather quickly with a gleam in his eyes that suggested that death was certainly an option.</p>
<p>Dean immediately let go of Ukraine, who rushed out of the room with their face buried in their hands. High pitched wails escaped their mouth as they made a break for it.</p>
<p>America watched as Ukraine fled from the room, freezing on the spot as the small Slav darted down the hall to probably to go hide. Once they were out of sight, he turned his attention back to Dean. Those slightly softened blue eyes became cold again, and America stared Dean down with a glare that could kill a weak man.</p>
<p>"Look, it's all a big misunderstanding—" Dean tried.</p>
<p>"Don't even fucking think about using that bullshit excuse," America swiftly cut him off. "I've made it quite clear that you leave your fellow employees alone."</p>
<p>Dean crossed his arms. His leather jacket made a squeak as he did so.</p>
<p>"This is the third goddamn time, Dean." America hissed, his eyes narrowing. "And this time, with my assistant?"</p>
<p>"If it were such a big deal you would've brought it up with HR already," Dean scoffed.</p>
<p>"Here's the funny thing, Dean," America gave a smirk beneath his mask, and he suddenly shot out his arm to grab Dean by the collar of his leather jacket. He bent at the waist to get closer, but he still lifted the smaller male up some. "I am HR. And I can deal with it how I want."</p>
<p>And with that, America suddenly jerked Dean forward and turned around, dragging him by the collar just down the hall, to where the men's restroom was.</p>
<p>Dean thrashed about like a fish out of water, kicking and screaming and flailing his limbs around. His hands flew around his neck to pry at America's fingers, but to no avail.</p>
<p>America still dragged Dean off to the bathroom, his screams going unheard thanks to the soundproof offices in the halls and the blurred glass windows, if anyone was lucky to have any. He roughly kicked open the door to the washroom, continuing to drag Dean inside as the door shut. Undoing his tie with one hand, America jammed the drain to the sink and got the water running by harshly turning the knob until water started pouring out of the faucet at an alarmingly fast rate.</p>
<p>America lifted Dean up when the water was high enough in the sink, and he promptly kneed him in the plexus. He used the momentum from the attack to slam him into the sink, placing his head under the water in it and adjusting his hold. Since Dean was face-down in the water, America planted his elbow just above the shoulder blades, using his fist to hold Dean under. He used his knee and thigh for Dean to straddle slightly, but also to press him closer to the sink and push the air from his lungs.</p>
<p>Dean continued struggling against the big man, screaming into the water. Bubbles came from his mouth and nose and rose to the surface. The front of his shirt was drenched, as he was splashing the water all over the place.</p>
<p>"Lehhhhggghh mrhhhh goohhhh!" he screamed into the sink. He managed to catch a breath by turning his head to the side far enough for his nose to peak out the water.</p>
<p>America shoved his head back under, practically pressing him onto the sink with his body and using brute force to drown the life out of this man. Thankfully, since he was taking all of the splashes and water, America barely got any on himself. He continued to hold him down into it, ruthlessly hitting him in the back and pressing him against the sink to crush the living shit out of him.</p>
<p>After several more long, agonizing minutes of struggling and screeching, Dean went still.</p>
<p>America continued to press him into the sink, leaving him there in the water until he was sure that he was dead. Then, he shut off the water and dragged Dean away from the sink, then into a stall and propped him up on a toilet seat before shutting it. These were cheesy doors, so they happened to be very easy to lock 'on accident'. The click sound was an easy indicator that it had locked from how hard America slammed the door.</p>
<p>Then he went back to the sink and removed his tie from it, finally allowing for the water to drain. He tossed the tie out, he had plenty more at home.</p>
<p>America was out of the bathroom and down the hall in a flash, moving to get to his office in a speedy manner, since he assumed that was where Ukraine had run off to.</p>
<p>At first, Ukraine was nowhere to be found. But the sound of soft sobbing guided America to his desk, where Ukraine was curled up in fetal position beneath.</p>
<p>Their gaze flickered up to America upon hearing his footsteps.</p>
<p>"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" they wailed.</p>
<p>Their desperation made America feel a stab of pain in his gut. They sounded so panicked and so scared, it made him hurt. His previously cold blue eyes softened.</p>
<p>"It's just me." America soothed them gently, not moving from his spot. He'd dealt with hysterical people more than once, so he knew his way around the situation now. "Dean isn't here, and he won't be anymore."</p>
<p>He kept his voice low, quiet. Raising it was never a good idea in this situation. All it needef was very tentative care and a soft tone.</p>
<p>"I thought he was going to—"</p>
<p>Ukraine went silent, with the exception of a few hiccups that wracked their body.</p>
<p>"I can't go through that again. I can't."</p>
<p>"You won't have to." America reassured them, bending down slowly and settling into a sitting position on the floor. "He won't be here anymore. I'll be sure to bring it up to NATO and UN, you won't have to go through that again."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...!" Ukraine cried. "Shit, I shouldn't have said that. Nobody knows about that. Fuck."</p>
<p>"Ukraine, deep breaths." Ame gently instructed, holding up his hands in front of him, palms facing Ukraine, to show he had nothing in his hands. A show of harmlessness. "You don't need to apologize. You are not in the wrong."</p>
<p>Ukraine did as they were told, taking a deep, shaky inhale before letting it go with a huff. They shut their eyes, then opened them again to look at America.</p>
<p>"This is a bit unprofessional, isn't it?" they tried to crack a joke, but it was obvious they were still terrified. Their shaking body gave it away.</p>
<p>It clearly worked, since America chuckled gently at the little remark and smiled underneath his black mask.</p>
<p>"Quite." He chuckled. "I'm coaxing my sobbing assistant out from under my desk and sitting on the floor, if UN saw me now he would certainly hand my ass to me."</p>
<p>"Can... Can I see you smile now?"</p>
<p>America hesitated, a bit nervous about it. They were rather shaken up at the moment, he didn't need them to be even more spooked. "Once you've calmed down enough, I'll show you."</p>
<p>"What? Please."</p>
<p>"You'll see why."</p>
<p>"Do you still have braces?"</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"I grew up in the Soviet Union. There's no way your teeth can be worse than mine, si— America," Ukraine smiled, tugging at their lips with their fingers to reveal their own crooked teeth.</p>
<p>America sighed. "Fine."</p>
<p>He caved, pulling down his black mask to reveal a scar over his lip, albeit a small one. He took a deep breath and gave Ukraine a soft smile, his lips pulling back to reveal his pearly white, triangular and sharp shark-like teeth.</p>
<p>"Is that what you were so scared to show me? Shark teeth?" Ukraine slowly crawled out from  under the desk. "This feels like a good excuse to hug you. May I?"</p>
<p>America's smile melted off his face as he huffed, but nodded.</p>
<p>"Go ahead."</p>
<p>He opened his arms to them, an open invitation to embrace the much larger male who was almost twenty four years their senior.</p>
<p>"I feel like you don't want me to. I won't, if that's how you feel about it. I understand what it's like for someone to cross your boundaries, so I would never do the same to you."</p>
<p>America forced an image out of his head before he could draw two and two together.</p>
<p>"I don't mind, really. You're free to." America wasn't exactly declining the hug. He did want it, but he wasn't sure if it was okay with his assistant. He really wanted to be sure that they were okay with it, because he didn't mind.</p>
<p>With that, Ukraine scooted over on their knees to engulf America into an embrace. As they nestled their face into America's shoulder, they noted the faint scent of cigarettes and pine.</p>
<p>"You smell good."</p>
<p>Their voice was slightly muffled from their mouth being smashed up against America's shoulder.</p>
<p>America's arms wrapped around his much smaller assistant, holding their body close to his in a loose hug. He could feel them burrow their face into his shoulder, a light rose dusting his cheeks at the feel of their closeness. Not that he minded, of course, he consented to this, but it was still an odd feeling. He wasn't used to it. Even after all the time he's had to adjust.</p>
<p>America's face was coated a shade of red at their muffled comment.</p>
<p>"Unprofessional, Ukraine." America jokingly retorted.</p>
<p>Ukraine giggled against America's shoulder, their laugh sending vibrations up his neck.</p>
<p>"Shush, big boy."</p>
<p>Ukraine wasn't sure if they meant it in a flirtatious way, but before they even thought about it, the words left their mouth. They flushed red.</p>
<p>"I am so sorry—"</p>
<p>America snickered, a small snort escaping him at the nickname that used to be used on him by someone he never wanted to remember. He found it funny.</p>
<p>"Pfft, don't apologize, it was funny." America said through laughs, his shoulders shaking and chest rumbling from his voice. "Just.. don't use it in front of Japan."</p>
<p>"What? Will she pitch a hentai about us to the production team and get us fired?"</p>
<p>"Not get us fired, but never let us live it down."</p>
<p>Ukraine giggled again, pulling away from America. "Thank you. I feel a little better."</p>
<p>"I'm glad. I'm supposed to return the favor for my assistant looking out for me, aren't I?" America gave them a small smile before pulling his mask up. "If you would like, I can get you to go on sick leave."</p>
<p>"No, no, it's okay. I should still do my job," Ukraine clambered to their feet, holding onto the side of the desk for support. "What else do we have to do today? I heard they start recording You're Going To Brazil this afternoon. Is there anything we have to do?"</p>
<p>"Do you feel like you can still do your job?" America asked, pushing himself up from his position on the floor and standing straight once more. "We just supply the money and cover costs. We don't have to do anything on the set."</p>
<p>"Awh, I was hoping to visit the set," Ukraine frowned. "And yeah. I got this. I just think I'll keep away from the break room for a little bit. Are you okay with fetching your own coffee for a few days?"</p>
<p>"I don't drink coffee unless I want a Jack Daniels and I'm on the job." America reached into his drawers and pulled out a pill. "I'll be okay."</p>
<p>Ukraine's lips curled into a smile. "Forgive my redundancy, but like I said a few days ago, Russia was so wrong about you."</p>
<p>"Russia," America began, pulling down his mask to drop the pill into his mouth and swallow it dry. "Is wrong about a lot of things. Like how his country is doing."</p>
<p>"You're not..." Ukraine raised a thin brow. "You're not abusing drugs on the job, are you?"</p>
<p>"Nope. It's Advil. I use it for headaches and migraines."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound accusatory. Did I use that word right? I've always wanted to say it. It's a fun word. Rolls off the tongue."</p>
<p>"You used it right, you're fine." America chuckled. "Technically, we're all druggies. Caffeine is a drug, and we all drink coffee."</p>
<p>"My favorite stimulant! Makes me anxious, though."</p>
<p>"Caffeine doesn't affect me that much. It satiates the urge for something strong, but it's got no effect."</p>
<p>Ukraine made yet another face of concern. "You're not an alcoholic, right? Wait, that's personal— So sorry, sir."</p>
<p>"No, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm just sick of a lot of people's shit."</p>
<p>"I'm glad. I don't want my boss dying of cirrhosis," Ukraine's expression returned to a subtle smile. They rubbed their eye with a knuckle, looking up at the ceiling.</p>
<p>"I don't think I'd like to die just yet. I have things to do and unfinished business." America remarked, sighing at the slight pain of his headache fading away. "Anyways, my shift is about to end. Be safe, I'll see you tomorrow."</p>
<p>America grabbed his laptop bag and a small stack of papers from his desk, waving goodbye to Ukraine and then exiting his office to go home and have dinner.</p>
<p>Ukraine sighed before grabbing their purse and then heading out the door.<br/>_________________</p>
<p>America was reclined in his office chair, his feet kicked up onto his desk as he stared up at the ceiling of his office. He had no idea as to where Ukraine was, he finished all his paperwork for the week, and he had covered his desk in origami swans, cranes, and doves in a desperate attempt to keep himself from being bored.</p>
<p>He chewed on his lip, despite it bleeding, and continued to fold a dove then tossed it onto the pile of folded birds that spilled over the sides of his desk.</p>
<p>Ukraine came bursting into the office, swinging the door wide open with an empty cup of coffee in hand. The coffee was spilt all over the front of Ukraine's shirt, their hair was a disheveled, knotted mess, and their shoes were on the wrong feet.</p>
<p>"Sir, I am so sorry— I can explain! I slept through my alarm because I stayed up most of the night thinking about what happened in the break room and I woke up at eleven because my sister called. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It won't ever happen again, I promise!"</p>
<p>And with that, they broke down crying. Christ.</p>
<p>America nearly jumped out of his own skin at his door being swung open so suddenly, his head snapping towards the direction of where it was and who kicked it open. Surprise surprise, it was his assistant. Ukraine. They looked to be the living epitome of waking up on the wrong side of the bed, and they seemed distressed.</p>
<p>America softened.</p>
<p>"Oh, Ukraine," He sighed, sweeping the paper birds off of his desk and pushing back, getting up and making his way to his disheveled assistant.</p>
<p>"I told you that you could take a sick leave, but please take some deep breaths. Slowly."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry! It— I'm sorry!" They repeated their apologies over and over again, grabbing at their hair and giving their short locks a tug.</p>
<p>"Ukraine, no." America's soft but stern voice commanded, grabbing at his assistant's wrists and moving them away from their face.</p>
<p>This felt like something he didn't want to remember... at all. It felt like when he moved Perú's hands away from his head after he found out...</p>
<p>Ukraine looked up at America, bleary eyes puffy and red. He sniffled and worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "I... I'm sorry, sir. Please. It won't ever happen again."</p>
<p>America removed his hands from their wrists, ceasing the physical contact from them in an instinctual move to make sure they were okay and to keep them safe. But still, he sighed.</p>
<p>"I know it won't. Take care of yourself, Ukraine." He was gently ordering them to do so. "Take time for yourself and make sure that you're ready, for Christ's sake."</p>
<p>Ukraine took a few deep, unsteady breaths through parted lips. Their eyes shut for a moment, presumably to suppress another round of tears.</p>
<p>"Okay, okay..."</p>
<p>"Breathe in... breathe out." America instructed, inhaling and puffing out his chest before exhaling in an effort to help Ukraine.</p>
<p>Ukraine did as instructed. Eventually, their cries were reduced to mere sniffles and the occasional hiccup.</p>
<p>After a moment of the breathing exercises with Ukraine, America invited them to sit down at his desk to talk it out. "Would you like to sit down? I can get you a coffee if you'd like one."</p>
<p>Ukraine took a seat in one of the chairs in front of America's desk. Their head lolled back as they huffed. "I'll pass on the coffee... Thank you, though."</p>
<p>"Mhm." America hummed, taking a seat in his chair across from Ukraine. Beneath some of the billions of birds he made, he had his notepad and his fountain pen, where he looked at it once more and found that everything he could do was scratched out and already finished. Ame sighed, bored.</p>
<p>"I made a metric fuckton of these damn birds.." He muttered.</p>
<p>"They're pretty..." Ukraine sat upright, picked one up and cradled it in their hand. "Teach me how to make one?"</p>
<p>"There are three kinds." America stated. "Choose one, and I'll teach you."</p>
<p>"Whichever is easiest."</p>
<p>"Swan it is."</p>
<p>Ukraine smiled, setting down the origami bird.</p>
<p>America passed them a piece of paper, him getting one for himself to show Ukraine what to do along the way. He'd folded the square piece of paper in half and then unfolded it, bringing one side to the middle of the page and lining up the edge with the crease. He did the same with the other side, and then showed Ukraine.</p>
<p>Ukraine followed along, folding the paper like America did.</p>
<p>America then repeated the action again on both sides to the folded paper, bending the needle like end of it at the halfway point and proceeding to press it against the other side of the paper and fold it in half. He pulled up the needle-like part and then folded the tip to look like a beak. Voila, a swan.</p>
<p>"Wait, can you repeat what you just did? Slower?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, sure." America unfolded the swan a little, going over the steps slower this time.</p>
<p>Ukraine did it with him. Tada! They held up their swan, beaming.</p>
<p>America smiled beneath his mask. "There ya go. You've got a swan now." He praised them softly, setting his own swan on the surface of the desk.</p>
<p>"I like birds. Especially nightingales. They sing such beautiful songs."</p>
<p>"Personally, I adore eagles." America sighed, his posture slouching just a little. "They are so majestic and powerful... Such beautiful creatures."</p>
<p>"There was a huge hawk outside my apartment complex when I came home last night!" Ukraine's eyes seemed to twinkle. "It was really chubby. Thicc bird."</p>
<p>"Who's been feeding them?" America seemed a little miffed at the thought of an overweight bird, like he had to protect it at all costs. "Birds shouldn't be chubby, it's very detrimental to their health."</p>
<p>"I've never seen anyone feeding the birds there. I haven't seen any birds there, for that matter. That was the first time I saw a bird here other than a pigeon."</p>
<p>"Ah." he hummed. "I see. Well, keep an eye on the hawk for a little while. If it hasn't flown in a couple of days, get in a wildlife expert."</p>
<p>America seemed very passionate about birds, and if Ukraine was being honest, they found that sort of— no, very —attractive. Wait, Ukraine, that's your boss. Don't think shit like that. Stupid gay fucker. Beside, he's twice your age. He's old enough to be your dad, for Christ's sake!</p>
<p>Ukraine seemed to bluescreen as they drowned in their racing thoughts.</p>
<p>America noticed his assistant's distant look in their eyes, their body seated in front of him but their mind completely elsewhere. Their cheeks seemed to be dusted with rose, as if thinking of something that wasn't exactly safe for work, and he decided to play a game with his assistant. He placed one crane on their head, another near their elbow, and a swan on their shoulder, and continued on as their lost look seemed to never fade from their eyes.</p>
<p>A few moments passed.</p>
<p>Ukraine suddenly stirred from their trance, their face a burning red. They looked like a tomato.</p>
<p>"Wh? Birds?" they blurted as a paper crane fell off their head.</p>
<p>America couldn't help but snicker quietly.</p>
<p>"How was your trip to Hawaii?" He asked his assistant, who was swamped in paper birds.</p>
<p>Ukraine's hand flew over their mouth and hit their face with a "pop". Their gaze flickered all over the room as they looked everywhere but at America.</p>
<p>"Uhm... Uh—"</p>
<p>"Something happen there?"</p>
<p>"UHM—"</p>
<p>"C'mon, you're killing me here. Penny for your thoughts?"</p>
<p>Ukraine began picking up the paper birds and setting them on the desk. No. No more thoughts about being sexually involved with your boss. Okay, but imagine him fucking you into the desk— Shut up!</p>
<p>Ukraine flicked their own forehead in an attempt to silence their brain.</p>
<p>"Actually, I think I'll let you keep them for now."</p>
<p>That was America's way of dropping the subject.</p>
<p>"Next time, be sure to email me in advance before going on vacation, mkay?" He joked lightly, moving some of the birds away from Ukraine so that they had some breathing room.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, sir—"</p>
<p>Imagine calling him sir in bed, Ukraine's mind went.</p>
<p>You could put out the fires on the American west coast with Ukraine's panties right now.</p>
<p>"You're fine." America waved them off. "I'll let you off easy this time."</p>
<p>This time. Oh, boy. Imagine being punished by your boss for daydreaming about him railing you.</p>
<p>Ukraine dismissed the thought before they could gush over it. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"No problem. Now, since I've got nothing to do, and you don't either (trust him, he checked), consider it my treat that I let ya go ahead and take the day off. You need it, anyway."</p>
<p>"W... Wou... D..." Ukraine stumbled over their words like a drunken man trying to cross a busy street, but the street was covered in solo cups filled with water and the street was also on fire. Yes, shitty metaphor. But that was how Ukraine felt.</p>
<p>"Hm?" America hummed. "Something you need?"</p>
<p>He looked over his shoulder to them as he lifted up his chair, setting it down a few feet away to properly sweep up all his paper birds.</p>
<p>"Would..." Ukraine finally managed the first word. They gulped. God, when did it get so hot in this office? "Would you like... To get out of here?"</p>
<p>America's expression became confused as he furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>Ukraine flushed more furiously than they ever had in their life. "I meant like, would you like to go get something to eat? It's bit early to go grab a drink, so maybe food—"</p>
<p>Oh. Ooooooh.</p>
<p>The American chuckled. "Oh. Of course, I'm down for it. I don't mind."</p>
<p>Ukraine then proceeded to fucking die. The following noise that came from their mouth could only be described as one of those cat pianos falling off a building, but the cat piano was reprogrammed to sound like a dying goose.</p>
<p>America broke out into a snicker, pushing away some paper cranes from his path with his foot. They didn't really stand a chance against the fine material of his dress shoes. "Ukraine? You okay?"</p>
<p>"Y-Yeah!" Ukraine flashed him a  smile. "Just. Distracted."</p>
<p>"Ah." He hummed. "Well, is there any place you have in mind at the moment? I'm not particularly picky."</p>
<p>"I actually— I saw a Russian place on the way here. Reminded me of home, and I'd like to go. Have you seen it? It's called Stolovaya."</p>
<p>"Oh, Stolovaya is great." America sighed, placing a few more cranes on the desk as he sighed at the thought of the food from there. "I may hate Russia's guts, but his food is wonderful."</p>
<p>"Hating him won't make him suck any less," Ukraine sighed, helping America sweep up the birds. "And it's a privilege to love. Love at every opportunity."</p>
<p>If it was a privilege to love, America sure was getting that privilege taken away way too often. He can't exactly love. He's tried it so many times, over, and over, and over again. It always managed to slap him in the face and punch him in the gut every single time, and it killed him to feel it. It hurt so damn bad.</p>
<p>"Yeah, well, it's easier said than done."</p>
<p>"Loving someone doesn't mean you have to like them. I love my brother and my dad, but they're both pieces of shit and I don't like them."</p>
<p>"I'd say there's a distinct difference between loving someone and tolerating the thought of them."</p>
<p>"Welp, I'd say I still love them. And I tolerate them. It's a dialectic."</p>
<p>"Whatever ya say," America tapped his foot as he placed the last dove delicately onto the pile of birds.<br/>____________________</p>
<p>Ukraine lifted up the menu. The entire thing was printed in Russian. They looked at America.</p>
<p>America was reading his own menu without a problem, looking over the dishes that were printed to see what he wanted and what looked good. He looked up from his menu to find Ukraine, his assistant, giving him a look. He smiled beneath the mask.</p>
<p>"Я свободно владею, Украина."* He smugly remarked. "Я прекрасно могу заказать еду."</p>
<p>(I'm fluent, Ukraine. I can order food just fine.)</p>
<p>"Симпатичний," Ukraine replied not in Russian, but in Ukrainian.</p>
<p>(Cute.)</p>
<p>"Ви любите кидати мені виклик, чи не так?"</p>
<p>(You love to challenge me, don't you?)</p>
<p>Ukraine paled.</p>
<p>America chuckled at their expression. "They love having someone who knows how to say 'fuck your life and your mother' in more than two languages."<br/><br/></p>
<p>Ukraine did a spit take. They proceeded to cover their mouth, holding back laughter.</p>
<p>The older American snickered at their spit take, holding down boisterous laughter.</p>
<p>"Full offense, but English is the shittiest language. I started taking it back in high school, then I quit because it drove me nuts. Then because I got into acting, I realized I had to learn it if I wanted to take jobs outside of Eastern Europe... So fuck your stupid language. I hate that there's no way around it. It's phonetically inconsistent and the grammar rules? They don't make sense."</p>
<p>"I didn't make it up." America reminded them, chuckling softly but slightly miffed. "It's not even my mother tongue, but I do enjoy the versatility."</p>
<p>"Versatility? Ukrainian is better with that. Rule thirty-four of the Ukrainian language— if it exists, there is a slang word for it."</p>
<p>"Same with English, if you search heard enough."</p>
<p>Ukraine smiled.</p>
<p>"I could speak full hillbilly, if necessary. From the east to west coast, northern to southern border, I know every dialect." He scoffed. "Heck, y'all'd've gotten the same result if you were me."</p>
<p>"Your country has such diversity!" Ukraine made an expression of interest. "But— I feel like if I went somewhere, say, Texas? I wouldn't understand a word. I can't even understand people here sometimes. Everyone talks so fast."</p>
<p>"You're mistaking Texas for New York, Ukraine." America corrected them. "New Yorkers speak fast, Texans just have a set of words within their dialect to make speech easier and a hint of an accent. We cut out sounds to make it easier to speak, but we don't actually talk fast."</p>
<p>"When people are speaking a language you have trouble understanding, it always seems like they're speaking fast. And boy, oh boy, I'm glad I decided not to go on Broadway."</p>
<p>"Even I can't understand people on Broadway. Believe me, I've tried."</p>
<p>Ukraine let out a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not alone."</p>
<p>"You're far from alone. I know plenty of people just like you and I." America took a sip of his water. "And let's be honest, the baseball game announcers are terrifying."</p>
<p>America immediately begins to imitate a baseball announcer's voice, speaking at the speed of light. "Robinson's coming into left field, a sharp turn and oh, it's possible he'll get the ball, it's comin, it's comin, and he caught the ball!"</p>
<p>Ukraine snorted, heat rising to their cheeks. A sense of humor? Now that was hot. They idly played with their cutlery, clanking the fork against the spoon.</p>
<p>"I sometimes can't even process what they say until it's already happened, a whole minute later." America admitted, sighing. "They're a different breed."</p>
<p>"What's your favorite competitive thing? Like, a sport or something. I liked ballet growing up. My father forced my siblings and I into it, but I always secretly enjoyed it. Russia liked it, too, but don't tell him I told you."</p>
<p>"For a little while, it was dumping tea into a harbor. Every ten pounds was a sliver of money to buy shit. Then, it was swing dancing, then waltzing, then.. I think soccer." He listed them on his fingers, counting over and over again to make sure he didn't miss one. "Maybe football? I definitely did baseball somewhere."</p>
<p>A smile tugged Ukraine's lips upward. A little bit of everything? Yup, this was the one.</p>
<p>"A truly well-rounded man."</p>
<p>Warmth dusted America's cheeks. "Oh, hardly. I'm... far from that," a nervous, slightly shy chuckle emitted from the man.</p>
<p>"I beg to differ."</p>
<p>"Certainly not." It was America's way of not being able to take a compliment. He didn't get them very often. "It's.. uh.. I've got some parts to me that aren't great, but don't we all?"</p>
<p>"Oh, America. Don't be silly. You're a light at the end of a deep, hopeless tunnel. And the not very nice parts make you more well-rounded. Besides, perfect people suck."</p>
<p>Shit. Again.</p>
<p>America felt a shiver roll down his spine. No. No. No no no no no no no no no. No. Please, don't. Not this again..</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah... Especially people who think they're perfect. Fuckin' twats.."</p>
<p>"Cough cough... Soviet... Cough, cough."</p>
<p>"Cough, New Zealand, Canada, Australia, France, Britain... Cough."</p>
<p>"New... Zealand?"</p>
<p>"Oh. Yeah, I did some real deep digging on New Zealand, apparently a country.. girl.. something, who died so suddenly and mysteriously. She was just a pile of bones in her bed."</p>
<p>"Then... It feels a little mean to call her stuck-up."</p>
<p>"She was, apparently. Pissed something off with her selfishness and the stick up her ass, then poof! She was gone."</p>
<p>"Stick up the ass?" Ukraine tilted their head. "That's something I've never heard before."</p>
<p>"Yep. It's one way to say that someone is on a high horse, and they need to be knocked off it soon."</p>
<p>Ukraine giggled. "My favorite English metaphor. There's a Russian figure of speech— Russia says it all the time about me. There's a black sheep in every family."</p>
<p>"I didn't have the privilege of being a sheep. I was like a wolf out of the flock of sheep that was my family." America sighed. "They hated me, and they feared me."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry to hear that—," Ukraine's eyes flickered down to America's hands.</p>
<p>America's hands were intertwined and locked tightly together, squeezing hard as he spoke. His knuckles grew whiter as time dragged on, but he eventually loosened up.</p>
<p>"Eh, no worries." He brushed them off. "I lost contact with them long ago. Hell, they don't even know I exist. And I would rather keep it that way."</p>
<p>"What could be so bad about you that they— Damn. I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"Hm?" America hummed. "What were you gonna say?"</p>
<p>"Nothing, just how surprised I was."</p>
<p>"I see. Well, there isn't much to be surprised about." He squeezed his hands together once more. "I was their problem child. Their mistake. And I had the guts to say that I was a living being too. Thus... broke out a war."</p>
<p>"Oh," Ukraine said.</p>
<p>"But yeah. They weren't the best people, of course, but I'm glad they're gone. They can't pester me anymore."</p>
<p>"Awh. Well, I'm glad they can't bother you anymore," Ukraine gave him a toothless smile, thin lips curled upwards.</p>
<p>"I am more than glad to say that I agree." America pulled down his mask to drink some of his water. Without bothering much to pull his mask up, he continued. "How are you and your siblings doing, last you heard of em?"</p>
<p>"Belarus and I are on decent terms. She called me a few days ago, said she landed herself a place in medical school," Ukraine's smile grew as they thought about their sister. "She's always wanted to be a nurse. Kazakhstan and I are... Okay? We haven't spoken since he moved out. Estonia is kind of a stuck-up. She only cares about Finland. Lithuania is cool— When it comes to Russia and I's situation, she supports my side. And you know how it is with Russia. The rest are okay."</p>
<p>"Pfft. Typical Estonia." He snickered, pulling his mask up to make sure nobody saw his teeth. "I'm glad Belarus got into medical school."</p>
<p>America couldn't help but smile.</p>
<p>"Practicing medicine, even while it's changing so drastically, is a tricky practice. I gotta say, she's earned my respect."</p>
<p>"I'd let her know, but she doesn't like you very much. None of my siblings do, really. I can't see why! Sure, your political climate is rather... Questionable, at the moment. But you, yourself, are so nice," Ukraine folded their arms across their chest. "And don't worry, America, I like your teeth."</p>
<p>"Eh... Opinions of those who don't care for me don't bother me. So, I'm fine with her not wanting to associate with me."</p>
<p>America brushed it off like water on a duck's back. He really didn't care too much about what they had to say, hm?</p>
<p>"I know, I know you do, but everyone else might not." He sighed as he pulled it down. "People like to talk when they find something unusual. And they won't shut up for years."</p>
<p>"I see," Ukraine sighed. They took a sip of their water. "You know, I was hoping you wouldn't understand the menu. That way, I'd have to translate for you, and I'd get to impress you."</p>
<p>"You impress me enough, Ukraine." America soothed them with a smile, doing his best to not show too much teeth so someone wouldn't try and snap a picture. "It's quite impressive that you can still deal with me and be a kid of Sovi's. Personally, I think that's quite the feat."</p>
<p>"Sovi?" Ukraine giggled.</p>
<p>"I called him that when he was around eighteen to piss him off."</p>
<p>Ukraine's giggles turned into a cackle. In between laughs, they managed, "When he was alive, we were supposed to call him Papa, but now we call him что вещь."</p>
<p>(That thing.)</p>
<p>"Thing? Wow, you really pissed on his grave there, huh?" The American male managed through low laughs, his hand covering his mouth as he did so.</p>
<p>"I actually want to do that, but he's cremated. He wanted his ashes spread across your driveway, but Russia wants to keep them."</p>
<p>"I think I'd power wash them off by accident, to be honest."</p>
<p>America paused.</p>
<p>"Well... Accident is too nice."</p>
<p>"And I don't even have a driveway... It's literally just an equine trail that leads to the barn at the back of my house. So he'd just get horse shit on him."</p>
<p>Tears welled in Ukraine's eyes. Right as they were about to say something, the waiter approached the table and greeted the two.</p>
<p>America greeted them gently in Russian, pulling his mask up as he sat straight and looked to Ukraine, as if asking them if they were ready to order.</p>
<p>Ukraine nodded, then told the waiter their order. Borscht. The waiter then turned to America.</p>
<p>America simply ordered some blini for the time being, since he didn't want a mainly meat or vegetable dish.</p>
<p>Ukraine passed their menu to the waiter, who gingerly took it from them.</p>
<p>America slid the menu across the table with one finger to the waiter, nodding softly as a means of thanks.</p>
<p>"So tell me more about you?" Ukraine started as soon as the waiter left.</p>
<p>"There... isn't that much to know about me, honestly." America laughed sheepishly, pulling down his mask. "You're free to ask me anything you'd like, though."</p>
<p>"What's your favorite color?"</p>
<p>"Blue."</p>
<p>"Really? That's my second favorite!"</p>
<p>"Mhm. Blue is very pretty. I just love it so much.." He sighed. "Next up is a light shade of eggshell white."</p>
<p>"Those are nice colors. Uh... What's your favorite food?"</p>
<p>Human meat.</p>
<p>"Ribs."</p>
<p>"What about... Favorite song?"</p>
<p>"Oh shit, I— Hmm..." America began to think, but as hard as he tried, it seemed like every song he had ever heard he had forgotten. "Honestly, something from Glass Animals or the Beatles."</p>
<p>"Do..." Ukraine paused, uncertain. "Do you have a partner?"</p>
<p>"I... Used to."</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."</p>
<p>"No! No, it's okay. It's fine, I'm over it."</p>
<p>Liar.</p>
<p>"Uhm. What is your opinion on—" Ukraine's phone rang. They pulled it out of their pocket to read the contact name. Belarus. "Hold on, I have to take this."</p>
<p>"Take your time!" America reassured them with a smile, pulling up his mask as he waited patiently for Ukraine to return. He was getting rather curious for the questions that they had.</p>
<p>The phone call was quick.</p>
<p>Ukraine sighed heavily, setting their phone down on the table. "Russia's got alcohol poisoning."</p>
<p>"What?" the American appeared to be shocked, but he shook his head. "Do you need any help? Do you have to fly out to Russia or anything?"</p>
<p>"No, it's fine. Belarus wants me to fly out there... This isn't the first time."</p>
<p>"I... Can't say that I'm surprised." America sighed, shaking his head. "Go ahead and fly out there just in case something does happen."</p>
<p>"Alright. I'll go first thing tomorrow morning."</p>
<p>"Do you want me to accompany you to the airport? It's alright if you don't."</p>
<p>"Only if you want to," Ukraine picked up their phone again, opened up Google and searched for a flight to Russia. "I'll come back and resume work as soon as I can."</p>
<p>"You don't have to resume work immediately. Be sure to let me know if things go sideways so I can give you time, if you need it."</p>
<p>"Thank you, America."</p>
<p>The pair's food arrived.</p>
<p>"Of course."* He replied through the mask, watching the food on the table with eyes that were similar to a wolf staring at a rabbit. *"I'm starved, lord this smells good."</p>
<p>"Somebody's excited," Ukraine cracked a grin.</p>
<p>"What? Food is good." America shoved a bite of his Russian pancakes into his mouth and chewed it up. He swallowed it down and repeated the process, tearing through his food quickly.</p>
<p>Ukraine giggled, then spooned a little bit of borscht into their mouth. "Hot!" they lifted their napkin to their mouth, panting.</p>
<p>America paused from his eating, looking like a puppy that had woken up from a nap at the sound of its owner calling it. He looked to Ukraine and laughed, holding his napkin up to his mouth just in case. He swallowed the mouthful he had, warning Ukie to be careful with their food.</p>
<p>Awh, that was cute, Ukraine thought. No! No gay thoughts about your boss! Bad Ukie!</p>
<p>Ukraine swallowed their food, cringing as it burned their throat on the way down.</p>
<p>"Blow on it, silly." America teased them as he shoved more food into his greedy mouth.</p>
<p>Blow? Oh, my god. Ukraine's mind dove into the gutter. They flushed redder than a cherry, dropping their spoon into their borscht. The splash of hot soup on their hands yanked them out of their thoughts.</p>
<p>"Fuck!"</p>
<p>"Oh, shit—" America cursed in some language he didn't bother to acknowledge. He was quick to snatch a napkin and hand it to them, hurriedly checking if they were okay. Thankfully, no third degree burns. They were fine.</p>
<p>Ukraine patted their hands dry with the napkin America handed them. "Sorry, sorry... I got distracted."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I could tell. You went red as the USSR." He chuckled. "So, you thinkin' about your special somebody?"</p>
<p>"I don't—"</p>
<p>America raised an eyebrow, as if prodding gently to continue. He wasn't gonna interrupt, he'd wait.</p>
<p>"I don't have a significant other. I was thinking about somebody, yes, but..."</p>
<p>Ukraine flushed redder.</p>
<p>"Oooooohhh, I see what you mean." He nodded along. "Yeah, I understand."</p>
<p>"Don't say that! That means you know who I was thinking about!"</p>
<p>"In all honesty, I don't, but I'd assume they're hot."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, he is. He's so intelligent and I find that really fucking attractive," Ukraine donned a lovey-dovey grin. "He's got the nicest smile. And he's super kind to me."</p>
<p>America raised an eyebrow and chuckled "Well damn. You've really set your sights on a good catch, eh?" He shoved more food into his mouth with a low hum.</p>
<p>"Mhm!" Ukraine giggled.</p>
<p>"I hope he treats you right, then, because if not, I don't take kindly to people hurting my employees."</p>
<p>Ukraine's face fell. "...I could tell."</p>
<p>"Don't worry about Dean, he'll never financially recover."</p>
<p>...Or physically.</p>
<p>Ukraine heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry, really."</p>
<p>"You shouldn't be sorry. I needed an excuse to fire him anyway." America sighed. "Management liked him... for whatever reason."</p>
<p>"Why would they...? He was gross— He smelled like rotten eggs and motor oil."</p>
<p>"Blegh." America gagged. "That's just gross, and it's beyond me. Thank god he's gone."</p>
<p>"I guess I should get going..." Ukraine sighed heavily. "I got a plane to catch at six tomorrow morning."</p>
<p>America nodded. "Be sure to go home and get rest. You need quite a lot of it."</p>
<p>The American felt some sort of protectiveness stir in him, like he had to look out for his assistant and keep them from harm's way.</p>
<p>"Don't drink any more coffee or tea. You'll just keep yourself up."</p>
<p>"I'm not sure how well I'll sleep regardless. Russia's done this so many times, but it never gets any less worrying..." Ukraine studied their shoes before looking up at America. "Thank you. I'll see you at Los Angeles International tomorrow morning? We can meet at the gate and say goodbye, if you like."</p>
<p>"I'll see you there." America gave them a gentle smile before pulling his mask up, covering his face and hiding his wolf teeth. The much larger American man led them towards the front of the restaurant, prompting them to follow him out to the front. "If you're okay with it, then I'm more  than willing to."</p>
<p>With that, Ukraine hopped into their rental car. They waved America goodbye before they pulled out of the parking lot.</p>
<p>America waved goodbye to his assistant, pulling out his keys from his pocket and walking out to his car to drive himself home. He had an early morning tomorrow, he had to get home pretty damn soon if he wanted to get up on time. He jammed the key into the ignition, turned on the car, and pulled out of the parking lot to get home.<br/>_________________</p>
<p>Ukraine was seated by the phone charging station when America caught their eye. They waved their hand wildly, which caused some strangers to peer at them with strange expressions.</p>
<p>America's peripheral vision caught ahold of movement, and he turned his head to look in the direction he remembered seeing it in. Immediately, he caught sights of his assistant, and he sped up his pace to get to the bench where Ukraine was sitting. He smiled beneath the mask as he stopped in front of them.</p>
<p>"Good morning, Ukraine." He greeted them, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep as he took a seat beside them. "Fuckers drive like crazy out here."  He grumbled lowly, slipping down his mask to sip at his cup of coffee he picked up.</p>
<p>"Tell me about it," Ukraine gave America a mini chuckle. "I didn't sleep at all last night. I'm operating off of sheer anxiety right now."</p>
<p>"I don't know how I can help with that, I'm afraid." The larger of the two sighed, sipping at his coffee but then taking a large gulp. The bitter drink helped to liven up his senses and keep him sane. More sane than he really should be. Traces of a headache began to pound at his skull, America wincing at the light pain. "Usually, I would have said use sleeping pills, but those rarely help."</p>
<p>"You made a face. Are you okay?" Ukraine suddenly felt the compelling urge to take America's hand in theirs. "And thank you for driving out here for me."</p>
<p>"Yeah. Just.. headaches." He grumbled, sighing at the pain of it. "Happens all the time."</p>
<p>America gulped down another mouthful of coffee as he fought back the urge to rip something apart with his teeth.</p>
<p>"Don't mention it, it's the least I could do."</p>
<p>Ukraine worried their bottom lip with their teeth. "I... America. There's something I want— need —to tell you."</p>
<p>America's head turned so he could look them in the eye. "Okay. I'll listen."</p>
<p>"I— Er... Uhm..." Ukraine looked at the ground, then back up at America. "Can I just show you? You'll have to take your mask off. You'll see why."</p>
<p>America's eyes averted to the clock displayed on the wall, noticing that Ukraine had to start boarding in just a few moments.</p>
<p>"Alrighty.."" America agreed, sliding down his mask so that he could see what Ukraine had to do. He didn't exactly see why they needed his mask off.</p>
<p>In a flash, Ukraine grabbed America by the collar and gave him a quick peck on the lips.</p>
<p>Before he could even comprehend it, America felt the kiss on his lips. It was quick and gentle, but it sure sent nervous flutters into his stomach. Woah. Hoooooly shit. Wow. Okay. Uhh... How does he take this again? America appeared to be stunned for a moment, genuinely caught off guard by the sudden show of vulnerable affection. Just as he was about to say something, someone on the intercom spoke up about Ukraine's flight leaving.</p>
<p>"I'm madly in love with you, America!" Ukraine was already grabbing their luggage and preparing to leave. "You make me all warm and tingly inside. Nobody's ever made me feel that way. Buhbye!"</p>
<p>And just like that, they were gone.</p>
<p>...Shit, man.</p>
<p>Now America kind of wished they didn't have to leave for Russia.</p>
<p>America felt a stupidly giddy smile spread across his face, and he pulled up his mask quickly to hide it from public view. He grabbed his coffee and made his was through the airport as butterflies, lizards, and snakes all writhed around in his guts. He had plenty of time to think it over, but now that he thought of it, he didn't think that it was all that scandalous after all.</p>
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<a name="section0051"><h2>51. IMPORTANT!!! PLS READ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>dog teeth is going to be a separate book now!! you can find it here on my profile or on oofooftimesthree on wattpad!</p>
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<a name="section0052"><h2>52. SEX!! (America x Ukraine) (NSFW)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>fdnfieibesg SadieGryphon on wattpad helped with this</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"It's just my fingers, sweetheart."</p><p>"Full... So full..."</p><p>"Oh, sweet baby," He cooed, his voice thick and sweet like honey as he grins with those sharp teeth. "It's nothing compared to what you'll get soon."</p><p>Ukraine let out a shaky moan at that, looking at America with half-lidded eyes full of nothing but pure love and adoration. "G... God—"</p><p>Oh, his poor baby Ukraine. With the way they were practically melting in his hold, the older male could tell that they were certainly going to get their socks rocked off when they got what they were really looking for. With a slight cruelty shining through in that smirk of his, America slipped in a third finger, pushing past the tight ring of flesh that squeezed around the base of his fingers. Even still, he moved just a little further forward to kiss them gently on the forehead.</p><p>Ukraine gasped, their spread legs wobbling wildly at the sudden intrusion. The extra digit felt odd in the best way. It made their insides feel all gooey and fluttery, if that made sense. They squeezed their eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath, then looked up at America again, who was planting a kiss on their forehead. Even more heat rose to their burning cheeks.</p><p>America slowly pushed his fingers in and out of them, curling those digits inside of their tight walls while America slowly retracted them from their insides. Each time, he repeated the process, each thrust pushing into them with a little bit more vigor than the last. God, they felt so tight, he wondered if he'd even be able to fit himself inside them. Well, no matter. He'd make himself fit.</p><p>America barely restrained a low, guttural groan that was similar to a growl as he pressed another kiss to their forehead.</p><p>"Please— Get in my guts already..." Ukraine begged between hiccups and squeaks. Their hands clenched into tight fists and they grit their teeth as one particular thrust of America's fingers was a little too rough. But it was fine. "Please! Sir—"</p><p>"What's my name, Ukie?" America growled, still grinning as he continued to thrust his fingers into them. He even took the liberty to move his fingers apart while prepping them for his girth. "Say it, Ukie. Say it like you mean it."</p><p>Ukraine squealed as America stretched them to their limit. Their jaw dropped open. "A... America!"</p><p>They ground down onto America's fingers, a whine escaping their gaping mouth.</p><p>"Ohmygod, please, fill me up!"</p>
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<a name="section0053"><h2>53. watermelon sex (America) (NSFW)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>enjoy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The knife sank into the soft, overripe watermelon with little effort. America hacked through the flesh of the fruit, tearing away at it bit by bit until he made a hole deep and wide enough to suit his needs. He licked his lips in anticipation. What a treat, what a treat.</p><p>America's hands immediately flew down to his fly, which he unzipped in a hurry and with such an energy he had never had before. He whipped out his length, six inches of unadulterated, uncircumcised glory. He gave it a few tugs, jerking it to life.</p><p>The watermelon sat in front of him on the counter, staring back at him. Its nonexistent eyes bore deep into his soul, asking— no, begging— to be fucked. Its gaze pleaded for him to fill the orifice he'd made moments prior, for him to pump it full of his man gravy, for him to ravage its fleshy insides. And boy, oh, boy, was America more than willing to do so.</p><p>America gingerly turned the watermelon onto its side, careful not to bruise the thing. Watermelon juice seeped out the hole and dripped onto the counter, then dribbled down the cabinet and onto the floor. The man paid no mind, instead lining up his cock with the hole he created.</p><p>He slipped in with ease, a groan escaping his parted lips. His eyelids fluttered shut and he threw his head back in bliss.</p><p>The watermelon squeezed tight around his girth, pulling at the flesh of his dick as he slowly pulled out. He gave an experimental roll of his hips, then let out a guttural groan. Fuck, it was so wet and soft. He could spray his kids into the fruit right now, but there was more fun to be had.</p><p>With each thrust, he gradually picked up speed, until he was full-on fucking the watermelon. Sick, squelching noises came from the watermelon as he railed the melon. He gripped the fruit by either side, pinning it down onto the counter as he pounded it into the granite countertop. Lustful groans and huffs erupted from his mouth, weaved into blankets of colorful language.</p><p>Even more juice leaked from the hole, spilling down the sides of his cock and drip, drip, dripping onto the floor. His Lightning McQueen socks were soaked in watermelon juice, he was sure. No matter.</p><p>Eventually, America busted a fat nut into the fruit. He bit back a cry of ecstasy, his knees buckling before giving out on him entirely. He pulled out the watermelon and sank to the kitchen floor, where he tugged his knees to his chest and struggled to catch his breath.</p><p>And then came the shame, the crippling shame that comes with having sex with a watermelon.</p><p>America just, rather violently, might I add, railed a watermelon. Not only was there watermelon juice all over the counter and the floor and America, but his dick was also sore. He'd fucked the thing too hard. F.</p><p>With a sigh, he clambered off the ground and tucked his dick back into his drenched jeans, then grabbed the watermelon and chucked it outside for it to rot.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Four months later</em>
</p><p>America's family was gathered around the backyard fire pit, chowing down on some tasty melon that had grown in the garden outside their home.</p><p>"You sure you don't want any melon?" Canada said through a mouthful of melon, wiping his face with the back of his hand.</p><p>America's gaze broke from the patch of melons, flickering to his brother. His dull eyes were full of something Canada seldom saw in America— Pain. Misery, even. Something was wrong.</p><p>"No, Nada. I'm fine."</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0054"><h2>54. MORE SEGGS!! (UkeAme) (NSFW) (go follow SadieGryphon on wattpad)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>udsuihihihg spoilers for dog teeth???? idk man</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my cowriter for this was SadieGryphon on wattpad!! go follow them!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ukraine nuzzled up against America's shoulder, the bean bag chair squeaking as they moved closer to their boss. With a whine, they slid a hand down America's hard chest. "....Horny."</p><p>America welcomed his assistant into the bean bag chair with him, shifting the placement of his arms to put his book away and to let them cuddle up to him. The nuzzle against his shoulder felt nice, but it was nicer when he felt them lay against his body in the chair.</p><p>Oh. So they didn't want cuddles.</p><p>America chuckled as he pressed his assistant closer.</p><p>"Already?" He teased, a slight grin on his face.</p><p>"Whaaat? I can be horny at seven in the morning. I'll be horny whenever I want," Ukraine huffed, grinding down on America's thigh. Their jaw dropped at the friction, eyes squeezed shut. "Please... I want you to hold me and—"</p><p>They whined again.</p><p>"I'm not complaining," America reminded them, pulling down his black mask from his face. He knew how much Ukraine loved to see his smile. "I'm just impressed."</p><p>"—fuck you senseless?" America finished for them with a purr, gently stroking their hair as they ground down onto his thigh. One arm threaded around their body, America reached down to the small of their back and pressed down. Effectively grinding Ukie onto his thigh and adding more force and pressure to it.</p><p>Ukraine let out an effeminate gasp at that, the upper half of their body stiffening. Their back arched as they began to rock on America's thigh, soft whimpers and moans bubbling up their throat and out their mouth.</p><p>"Mr. Washington, please... Touch me. Please!"</p><p>America had to hold down an aroused growl. Oh, baby, that's how you really get what you asked for.</p><p>America removed his arm from around their body, instead leaving them to grind against his thigh as he slipped his suit jacket off of his body and tossed it aside somewhere. He couldn't care less about where it landed. His hands reached up to begin to unbutton Ukraine's dress shirt, taking his sweet time removing the article of clothing from their torso and upper half of their body.</p><p>Ukraine busied themself by getting to work unbuttoning America's dress shirt with shaking hands. They could barely get the buttons through the holes. Their skin was on fire, burning with an arousal Ukie had never felt before.</p><p>"Pl—Ease!" their voice cracked pitifully.</p><p>Their pitiful voice practically begged America to keep going, and sure enough, he did. He'd gotten the last button off their shirt and slipped it down their shoulders, exposing all of their soft skin to himself. He grinned wolfishly.</p><p>"Please what, baby?" America teased.</p><p>Heat rose to Ukraine's already flushed face. Sweat was already dribbling down their forehead and neck like a waterfall. Their hair clung to their forehead, drenched wet with perspiration. That wasn't the only thing Ukraine had that was drenched, however.</p><p>"C'mon, Ukie, tell me what you want." America pressed, unbuttoning his shirt himself. His lips were parted just a little, soft pants of arousal pushing from his lungs while he continued to slowly remove his shirt from his body. Each button was excruciatingly slow, even for him. "I can't give you anything unless you ask for it."</p><p>Now he was just being mean.</p><p>"I... Uhm."</p><p>Ukraine's grinds ceased for a moment as they grabbed America by the shoulder to lean over and whisper-yell-cry into his ear.</p><p>"I want you to fill me up!"</p><p>America had finished unbuttoning his dress shirt, and he immediately tossed it aside with a new haste within him. It stirred in his stomach, like a cot coil, and it begged him to do one thing; fuck Ukie's brains out.</p><p>"That's what I wanted to hear." America lowly growled into their ear, oily smoothness and a primal arousal hanging onto his tone. His hands grasped at their shoulders, holding them still as he shifted his position and flipped them to be on the bottom.</p><p>America reached behind a plant that was positioned suspiciously close to a bookshelf, dragging out a greenish bottle of olive oil from behind it.</p><p>Although slightly confused as to why America just happened to have a bottle of olive oil laying around at his office, they were too engulfed in arousal to say anything. Forming coherent sentences was next to impossible.</p><p>"Fu... Please... Fuck m—me..." Ukraine begged, tears welling in their blue eyes. "Please, please, please..."</p><p>They tried to grind against something, anything, desperate for friction, but there was nothing there for their crotch to meet. They whined.</p><p>America rolled the thought over in his mind. Should he prep them? Should he not? Should he just let them sit and suffer? Well, if he did that, he'd be torturing himself as well. The growing tightness in his dress pants was not something he wanted to deal with for the remainder of the day. Unfortunately for America, if he did just leave them that way, this was his last free period before he had to go to five consecutive back-to-back meetings. The thought made him ache with longing.</p><p>America uncapped the bottle of olive oil, one hand holding it to prevent it from spilling the expensive liquid and the other unbuttoning his pants and zipping down the zipper. The tent in his pants was fucking killing him now. He hooked this thumb into Ukie's dress pants, pulling them down in one fluid motion to expose Ukraine's sensitive crotch area.</p><p>Ukraine crossed their legs immediately, horribly embarrassed. A soft hiccup wracked their body and they looked away, face pink. Their fingers curled into the material of the bean bag chair and squeezed tight.</p><p>America halted at them suddenly crossing their legs, setting the bottle of olive oil aside.</p><p>"Ukie?"</p><p>He questioned them softly, gently reaching forward to cup their cheeks. Their skin was so soft, oh he would never ever get tired of caressing them. He just wanted to pepper the smaller in so many small kisses... they were too sweet.</p><p>"You don't have to hide from me," He soothed them, gently running his thumb over their cheekbones with a gentle smile. "I love you so much, Ukie, I love you, I love you, I love you.."</p><p>Ukraine melted. They looped their arms around America's neck, pulling him closer to kiss him on the mouth.</p><p>"I know, I love you, too," they uncrossed their legs, then looked down to see that America's pants suddenly seemed eight sizes too tight on him. "Owah owah, somebody's excited."</p><p>
  <b>AND THEN IT ENDED HERE!!!! WOOOO</b>
</p><hr/><p>
  <b>SAD PERSON HAS SEX WITH DEMON MAN!!!</b>
</p><p>"The perks of going to hell is that I have a long enough tongue to make you scream."</p><p>"Oh, do you, really?"</p><p>"Would you like to see, or do you want it to be a surprise?"</p><p>"Show me."</p><p>America parted his lips and opened his mouth wide, moving his tongue past his lips and letting it slip out about halfway as far as it could reach. Painted an inky black, the forked tongue could reach the underside of his jaw without a problem or strain. With one fluid movement, he retracted it back into his mouth.</p><p>"There you go. Demon tongue." He reached up with his hand to wipe away the blackish saliva that had dripped or drooled from his mouth.</p><p>Ukraine's cheeks flushed redder than a fire engine. "I... Sir. Take me on this couch, right now."</p><p>"Sir? Never thought I'd hear that." America grinned wolfishly at the name that Ukraine had given to him fifteen years ago. America swiped away some of his saliva that he missed with his tongue, giving him the appearance that he was licking his lips with anticipation. "How do you ask for things?"</p><p>Ukraine grabbed America by his tie, attempting to yank him closer.</p><p>"Gimme."</p><p>"You're close, darling," America's grin widened, showing off his sharp teeth that gleamed in the light. "Go ahead and use my name properly."</p><p>"Sir, please..."</p><p>"My name isn't Sir, sweetheart."</p><p>"America, please."</p><p>"Getting warmer!~" America sang teasingly.</p><p>"Daddy?"</p><p>"Oooh, there's one I like!~" The demon bent at the waist and approached Ukraine, pressing a kiss to their head in a classic America style. "You're almost there, sweetheart."</p><p>"Uh..." Ukraine chuckled sheepishly. "I... I don't know..."</p><p>"I'll give you a hint," The Gluttony, Greed, and Wrath hybrid growled beneath his breath, swiping his tongue over his teeth while he grinned like the maniac he was. "My last name seemed to be a favorite of yours to use."</p><p>"Mr. Washington—?"</p><p>"Bingo, baby." America's barbed tail thumped against the ground, scratching up the hardwood floors as he involuntarily expressed affection and excitement.</p><p>"Mr. Washington, please, take me..." Ukraine grabbed onto America's shoulders, trying to pull him close as they whined.</p><p>"With pleasure, my dear." America responded in turn, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Oh, they'd certainly make a wonderful meal once he was done. America could feel himself begin to drool with anticipation.</p><p>The demon guided them to the couch while swallowing every few heartbeats to prevent his inky black, slightly translucent saliva (which stains), from dripping onto the floor and carpet. He motioned for them to climb onto the couch.</p><p>Ukraine did exactly that. They clambered onto the couch, hands flying down to their pants to unfasten their belt. "Thank you, thank you..."</p><p>"Don't mention it." He crooned, simply digging his barb into the leather of the belt and slicing it cleanly in half. The tip wedged itself into their pants, dragging them off in one fluid movement with minimal damage to the clothing.</p><p>America clambered onto the couch in front of them, his hands gently placing themselves on their calves and trailing up to their knees. He gently gripped them and pushed their legs apart, exposing their crotch that was only hidden from him by their thin undergarments. Nothing some teeth couldn't take care of. America moved forward, placing himself between their legs as he bent his head to grip the article of clothing in his sharp teeth and then rip. The demon tossed it aside like a dog that had just shaken the life out of a rabbit.</p><p>Ukraine squeaked at that, their hand flying to cover their mouth. They gazed at America with half-lidded eyes full of lust. They ground against the couch, letting out an aroused whimper at the friction.</p><p>Fucking finally. There wasn't anything to fuck in hell where he was stationed, and he'd missed this a lot more than he thought he would. A low, rumbling growl sounded in his throat, thick and heavy with lust and desire. He would love to just get to work, but he'd rather tease them first. Well.. he isn't feeling mean today. America licked his lips with anticipation, his hands sliding down to Ukie's thighs to hold them open.</p><p>The long, black tongue snaked past his lips, coated in the layer of inky drool that had flooded his mouth. Holding close to nothing back, he scooted further up to place his mouth over their crotch, his tongue dragging slowly over their clit. Oh, he's being mean today.</p><p>Ukraine gasped, throwing their head back. "Fuck!!" God, that felt nice. They could fucking lose their shit right there. Thankfully, Alex was at band practice and not home to hear Ukraine and America doing the dirty. "Please, Mr. Washington! Please!"</p><p>America was a little bit preoccupied with licking Ukraine's vagina, so he had his mouth full. He only hummed in response, as if asking, "Please what?" America's tongue retracted back into his mouth, only for the forked ends to gingerly drag themselves along the sides of their entrance then to their clit. Now that was just cruel.</p><p>Ukraine ground against America's tongue, whining again as if to say back, "You know what I want."</p><p>The low growl in Ame's throat suggested he meant "Touché." America pressed the ends to his forked tongue together, thinning out the muscle just a little so he could enter Ukraine with ease. He pushed past their entrance at a slow pace, sliding his tongue into their walls and their delicious insides. Well.. Ukraine was delicious either way, but this was a different kind. Once he had pushed enough of his tongue inside, he relaxed it and allowed it to spread and stretch back out to its original girth.</p><p>"Oh... Oh, my god..." Ukraine's hand moved from their mouth to their forehead as they leaned back against the arm of the couch. "America, oh my god..."</p><p>America's tongue dragged against their walls, the slightly rough muscle swirling and tasting their insides while searching for that one spot that he knew would drive them insane. Their insides clenched around his tongue, squeezing with pleasure at him tasting them and enjoying it. A low, happy groan sounded in his throat as his saliva drooled all over their crotch area. Delicious, fucking delicious.</p><p>Ukraine suddenly let out a wail, grabbing at the couch cushion beneath them. "Mr. Washington!"</p><p>Their legs wobbled like they were made of jello. They bit their tongue so hard one would think they drew blood.</p><p>America gripped their thighs tighter, smirking against their sensitive skin while he watched them writhe and squirm as he fucked them with his mouth. The use of his nickname sent a pleasant flutter into his stomach. Ah, he loved that. He absolutely loved the feeling. With those noises Ukraine was making, the demon was sure that they were enjoying it too.</p><p>America pressed his tongue on that spot again, abusing that bundle of nerves inside of them as one hand slid sneakily from their thigh to the black saliva that coated their crotch area, lathering two of his fingers in it as he brought them towards Ukraine's other entrance. Slowly, he pushed them in, barely putting any effort into prep. Because fuck prep.</p><p>Ukraine squeaked at that, startled. It wasn't bad or anything, they just weren't expecting it. They looked away from America, their gaze instead resting on the popcorn textured ceiling. Pink dusted their cheeks as even more blood rushed to their face. "Mh!" they gasped as America's fingers fully sank into them.</p><p>America gulped around his tongue, swallowing back his saliva and any slick that may have pooled in his mouth and mixed with the inky black substance. With the taste so diluted, he wasn't quite sure, but he was enjoying himself either way. America pulled his fingers out to the first joint and then pushed them back in, occasionally pushing his fingers apart against the tight ring of flesh that was their opening, essentially fucking them open with his fingers. Oh, those little gasps.. so sweet.</p><p>"Ohmygod, ohmygod..." Ukraine whined, the pitch of their voice going up at the end as their voice cracked. "So good, so good..."</p><p>Ukraine spread their legs a little further, like it would somehow give America even easier access.</p><p>"Fuck! I want you to rail me, please...."</p><p>America paused, ceasing his assault on their clit. His fingers kept fucking them open, however, since he's cruel like that. He dragged his tongue back into his mouth, smacking his lips at the gaze and pulling back from their crotch.</p><p>"And give you another kid?" He joked, pressing a light kiss to their delicate, black-saliva coated entrance. "Condoms and pills don't work against me, darling."</p><p>"Fuck my ass, then!" Ukraine pleaded. Their voice shook.</p><p>America's barbed tail undid the belt to his dress pants and slid them down, this time more careful with his boxers since he didn't exactly want to order a new pair from Lucy.</p><p>"Alrighty then." America's throbbing and painfully erect cock sprang up once his boxers had freed him from his damn prison. America grabbed Ukraine's hips, dragging them towards him while he positioned himself to ram into his ass. Gentle? Who is she?</p><p>"Wish granted." He growled as he pushed all of his length into them in one fluid, powerful motion.</p><p>Ukraine squealed, squeezing their eyes shut and stiffening at the sudden intrusion. "Ow, fuck!"</p><p>Ngl, that shit fucking hurted.</p><p>Oh, shit. Too rough. The demon's tough guy act melted away almost immediately, the hands holding up Ukraine's waist beginning to massage into their lower back to ease the pain. Their muscles had become taut and tense, and their face was twisted with pain. Immediately, the protective and long-buried loving instinct of the demon kicked in full force, and he was bent over them in an instant, kissing all over their face and apologizing for the pain he caused them.</p><p>"It's okay, it's okay. Just be gentler, please," Ukraine squirmed some, struggling to adjust to the length inside them. "Gimme a minute."</p><p>The pair waited a moment for Ukraine to settle down, then Ukraine finally, with a huff, told America they were ready for him to move.</p><p>"I will, I will," America promised them, pressing more kisses to their face while he held as still as he could while their insides squeezed the life out of him. He continued to shower them in affection, sweetly kissing them and nuzzling their neck with all the affection in the world.</p><p>Upon getting his queue, America didn't immediately get to ramming into them like a jackhammer, or a sex-starved bunny. He rocked his hips slowly against theirs, sliding in and out of their insides at a gentle pace like they had asked.</p><p>"Haaah..." Ukraine made some sort of pleasured noise, leaning back again as their hands returned to grip the couch cushion they both were on. "Holy shit..."</p><p>America could only grit his teeth and grip their hips tighter in an effort to keep the pace gentle. Be sweet with Ukie, Ame, be sweet with Ukie. They're fragile compared to you. With that in mind, America let loose a soft huff through his mouth, those teeth — no longer ones he had to hide — were bared. America rocked his hips with a little more vigor, his need to be sweet and gentle gradually fading as he slowly fucked Ukraine into oblivion.</p><p>Ukraine let out a series of squeaks and swears and soft moans, but none were of pain or discomfort. Their toes curled and their eyes rolled back, mouth agape. "Fuck! Fuck! Sh—It!" their voice cracked again.</p><p>Fuck it. America pulled his hips back from theirs, his length unsheathing from Ukraine until only his tip was left within them. Gritting his teeth, the demon slammed his hips back up against theirs, then pulled out and slammed back in again, repeating this rigorous process all for the sake of chasing his high.</p><p>Ukraine sang. They wrapped their legs and arms around America like a koala hugging a tree, gripping him tight. Their nails raked across his back, and thankfully he was wearing a shirt, because those motherfuckers were untrimmed.</p><p>America's eyes were shut as he rammed into them like a jackhammer, one of his arms wrapping around them to hold them to his chest, while the other held their hips in place as he ravaged their insides with his length. He was going to rearrange their insides and scramble them like eggs. America pressed onto Ukie's lower back, forcing them closer to him as he rammed into them, tip to hilt, every single time.</p><p>Hopefully the neighbors wouldn't leave a complaint on Ukraine's door. Ukraine was screaming at the top of their lungs as hot, salty tears breached their waterline and dripped down their cheeks.</p><p>"Mr. WashingtoO—Oon!" Ukraine sobbed, holding onto America for dear life.</p><p>America could just burn the complaint. While he wasn't a lust demon, he was a wrath demon. And that meant fire and brimstone. Ukraine's cries of pure ecstasy only fueled America's need to fuck their insides up. Think of it as the urge to reproduce, a primal instinct that never faded in honor of keeping the damn species alive. America's barbed tail coiled around Ukraine's ankle, like he was trying to make sure they wouldn't leave or disappear.</p><p>A scorching hot coil began to grow tighter and hotter in America's belly, and the flame was only fueled by driving further into Ukraine's insides. His thrusts got a little sloppy, his soft growls became lust-fueled snarls, and his pace picked up significantly. He needed to get that feeling out, he needed to. It felt so good, oh fuck...</p><p>Ukraine's orgasm wracked their already shaking frame as they screamed out in unadulterated ecstasy. Another round of tears spilled down their flushed face. They went limp like a cooked spaghetti noodle in America's hold, huffing and panting as they rode out the waves of their orgasm.</p><p>Even as Ukraine cried out to the heavens from their orgasm, America was not done. He continued to slam his dick into their insides with little mercy, the coil in his belly getting tighter and tighter and hotter and hotter as he harshly thrust his hips against theirs. So close, so close..</p><p>Not a few moments later, a gasp and a groan escaped the demon, followed by a string of foul words and things in what appeared to be ancient Latin. His hips pressed hard against theirs, finally unloading into them as that burning coil snapped and clouded his vision with white. Harsh, low pants rushed from his lungs, growls and shudders hanging onto the ends of each inhale and exhale.</p><p> </p>
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